


The Hinge

by slipgoingunder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bazine Netal is dating Rey and Ben separately, Bazine deserves the world, Car Sex, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Hate Sex, In small amounts, M/M, Minor Poe Dameron/Ben Solo, Minor Poe Dameron/Rey, Naked Female Clothed Male, Oral Sex, Preylo, Restraints, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, YouTube, get consent before - not during, preylo?, reylo is incapable of true polyamory, something that could be considered slight dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipgoingunder/pseuds/slipgoingunder
Summary: Bazine Netal has a simple wish: to be the hinge in a threesome with Ben and Rey. It's a shame those two can't stand one another.OR: One queen and two idiots try to have a threesome.





	1. A Threesome

**Author's Note:**

> It should be about 3-4 short chapters. It's just a way for me to get in a different, sillier headspace while I finish my [other fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15877074). 
> 
> Bazine is a YouTuber/influencer who makes videos about sex and relationships. I definitely stole some of Bazine's lines from Tati's amazing "Bye Sister" video. 
> 
> This is also a bit of a tribute to [ @bazineapologist's "Brunch is For Lovers.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937502/)" I hope I'm differentiating it enough, but I *highly* encourage you to read it because it's sweet and hilarious!
> 
> A "hinge" is the middle person in the "vee" threesome, meaning it's a V-shape rather than a true "triangle." 
> 
> Content warning: this fic will poke some fun at poly and open relationship stuff. Please don't take it as reality, you know?
> 
> MIND THE TAGS!

"Can I get you another?" The server's hand hovers over Ben Solo's nearly empty tumbler. 

He needs to be loose, but not drunk when they get here. 

"I'll wait until my girlfriend arrives." The server looks considerably less enthused as he begins to step away with a limp nod. "Actually, wait. Do you still have that goat cheese starter with the gluten free toast points? She'll want that. And an ice water."

She'll want a glass of Prosecco, too, but better to wait until she comes. _Better to wait until she comes_ is a guideline that hasn't let him down. Yet.

It's not that he's nervous. He's just— _wary_. In healthy way. Bazine always says "scary, but not dangerous." Ben definitely isn't scared of anything. But he tries to give her everything she wants. It's not as if she demands much of him. And at this stage of his life, it's a perfect arrangement. 

He's fully focused on her when they're together. And when they're not? Well, that's what her other lovers are for. And he's _fine_ with that. 

_Completely fine._

Bazine walks into restaurant with the confidence of an Influencer who's about to become the middle _F_ in a F-F-M threesome. 

He’s lucky to be with a woman who's so open about her fantasies. Or maybe luck has nothing to do with it. 

She leans over the table, pulling back her dark, straight hair as she kisses him hello. There's nothing very romantic in it, but then, they've never been particularly _romantic_. She prefers it that way and so does he. 

But she _looks_ romantic today, in her sheer, dark blue dress with long sleeves. Her cleavage is just peeking out of the low neckline, where a few delicate chains have lodged under the fabric. It's hard to tell if it's purposeful. Bazine is a master of this style-based nonchalance. Not that anyone else would question it. But Ben pays attention to these kinds of details. 

"Are you excited?" she asks, as the server places the appetizer and her ice water down on the table, a little more roughly than Ben would like. She doesn't give him the chance to respond. "I'm excited. My subscribers have been begging for more threesome content. Can I get two glasses of Rosé?" 

"Rosé?" Ben’s voice drips with disapproval, as the server walks away.

"I know. I know. But I'm trying to ease her into wine and I want her to feel comfortable and not like someone is judging her for being a basic bitch who drinks Rosé." _Off to a great start, then._ "I just want to wrap her up in my love and care."

"Whatever makes you happy."

"I can't wait to see what you think of each other. She has this raw talent for YouTube and I just want to see her grow and step into herself."

"Are you helping her 'step into herself' or into _you_?" 

"There's something about her that I just adore and love," she says, deflecting the question. "Last time was fun but, I mean...It's a little different when the other point in the triangle is your childhood friend. Now you'll have a clean slate. It _was_ fun though, wasn't it?"

She picks up the menu, while Ben considers the question. The whole thing with Poe Dameron had unearthed a lot of memories that should have stayed buried. And it hadn't helped that Poe had still acted like the biggest fucking prick— _though he definitely doesn't_ possess _the biggest prick—_ even after all those years. 

Everything between them had always turned into a dick measuring contest, followed by...other things involving their dicks.

But not since college. Idiotic youthful experimentation. That's how he'd rationalized it.

And then Bazine had received an ask about MFM threesomes. The wheels has started turning in her mind. She'd gotten very curious. 

At least this time, the third would be neutral. No long-standing grudges, no weird rivalries, no suspiciously-close relationships with Ben's mother. ( _"She's my mentor." Shudder._ ) Just some random fangirl who Bazine had taken under her wing. Nothing to worry about there. There's a good chance this girl will be too intimidated to go through with it, anyway.

 

* * * *

 

The girl is twenty-six minutes late— _twenty-six minutes_ —when she waltzes through the door, swinging her army green backpack wildly, just missing the server's head. 

"Hey, Mom," she says, placing her palms to Bazine's cheeks and bending down to give her a kiss. A real one. Ben sees tongue. Two tongues, actually. 

_What the fucking shit is this?_

The girl—Bazine told him her name, but he'd already forgotten it—has her unremarkable brown hair in a sloppy braid. She's wearing a white t-shirt with a bright orange sports bra showing through and a pair of capri-length purple leggings that have started to pill. Must have been a sale at Old Navy.

"The girl you've heard so much about," says Bazine, as the young woman takes the seat next to her. 

Has he _heard so much about_ her? Is his mind that much of a sieve when it comes to Bazine's asinine reports about her other partners? 

"I'm Rey," she says, thrusting her hand forward. _What, no bro hug from this delicate creature?_

"Ben Solo." He shakes her outstretched hand just firmly enough to be intimidating. She squeezes back surprisingly hard. "Rey is...an unusual name for a woman." 

"Is it?" she says, grabbing the two last gluten free toast points from the plate and slathering them both with the remainder of the goat cheese. She turns to Bazine. "Did you see Mitaka's story this morning? He dragged Hux onto the dance floor." 

She's talking with her mouth full. Bazine doesn't seem to notice. 

"He tried to trick a straight man into thinking he's gay, and somehow, _Hux_ is the victim? His behavior is not normal. It's not okay. Cracking someone's sexuality is not an escape room."

Ben tunes out the rest of the conversation, not bothering to wonder why "Rey" already knows so much about the boring details of Bazine's social media drama with her sex and relationship YouTuber "colleagues." He focuses instead on the girl's face. It's... _fine_. Nothing special at all. No makeup. Her eyes seem to be a dirty hazel-ish color, but they look small and squinty when she smiles. And she's smiling _a lot_ at Bazine and barely even acknowledging his presence at the table. It's rude. _She's rude_. Her table manners are fucking feral. 

_This_ is who Bazine wants as their third? 

"Are you in construction?" he asks, looking at her hands. "A day laborer, perhaps?"

"Why? Do you need some work done? According to Baz, you appreciate a _handy_ man every now and then." Ben's eyes shoot to Bazine, but she's fucking laughing at this. "I'm a trainer and fitness blogger. Baz is helping me with my YouTube channel."

She's scrawnier than any trainer Ben's encountered. Judging from the way she inhales the appetizer, her slender build must be down to youthful metabolism. Very youthful. 

As if she can read his mind, she turns to Bazine.

"How old did you say he is?"

"He's, uh, thirty-sev—?"

"Thirty-six," he answers, glaring daggers at the women he's been seeing for over a year and a half. 

The girl's eyes widen. "Ew," she mutters, before stuffing the last of the goat cheese in her mouth. "So he's gonna be joining us?" 

"No, _you're_ going to join _us_ ," Ben corrects. "Allegedly."

"Am I?" She swallows half of the glass of Rosé in one gulp before reaching down into her bag for a 40-ounce container of store-brand Gatorade. 

"We'll see."

"What do _you_ do?" the girl asks, barely pausing between chugs. "Accounting? Human resources?"

"I need to brag about Ben's brilliant mind for a minute," Bazine says, holding out her manicured hand to stop him from responding. "He's so gifted with his view of contracts and business development." Ben begins to wonder if Bazine actually knows what he does, beyond helping her negotiate her deals in his spare time. "He was mentored by Roland Perkins." 

Rey merely blinks in response. She must be living under a goddamn rock.

"One of the original founders of CAA," Ben says, hearing more than a touch of exasperation in his own voice. 

"Is that like, one of those experiential marketing agencies you were telling me about?"

"No, no," Bazine says kindly. "Ben is old school. He was a development exec."

"Oh, like movies? That's cool, I'm thinking of trying to get into stunt work."

"You should see her playground parkour videos, Ben. She's _so_ agile. We're planning a collab series on partner yoga."

"Thanks _, Mom_ ," Rey says, sticking out her tongue, before loudly announcing that she needs to pee and excusing herself from the table. 

Ben shoots Bazine a look once she’s out of earshot. 

" 'Mom?' Really?"

"She had a rough childhood. Real sob story." She runs her finger around the rim of her wine glass. "It's our little joke. I think it's cathartic for her."

"I don't like it."

Bazine leans in as Ben glances down at her breasts again, weighing the prospect of a threesome against the girl's most outwardly annoying qualities. 

"Okay, but aside from that, what do you think? She's a diamond in rough, right?"

"She's something in the rough. How old is she?"

Bazine presses her perfectly tinted lips together.

"Twenty-two. But she's very street smart."

"Is this a project for you? Because I'm not feeling it. She's so—naive."

"I wanna be someone who can give her solid advice. There's something pulling me to her. Like this nurturing instinct." Bazine sips her Rosé, with a tiny grimace as it hits her tongue. "And, honestly? She's fantastic at oral. Just...the best."

A pang of jealousy rips through Ben's chest at the implication. That ratty-looking, utterly clueless, unapologetically rude girl gives "the best" head? It's fucking insulting. 

His face must be a dead giveaway because Bazine backtracks immediately. 

"I mean, you're great, too. Of course. You're both amazing. That's why I'm really, _really_ looking forward to this." 

The smart thing to do would be to shut the whole thing down. He's already in his head, already fucking pissed and suspicious. There's no way this can possibly end well. 

But he’s not going to be the one to back down. 

"I'll do it."

And he'll show that coarse, disrespectful girl who's the actual "best." 

 

* * * *

 

Bazine inhales sharply, adjusting her posture as Rey returns to the table. 

"I'm ready to go back to my apartment," she announces, before Rey can take her seat again. "Assuming you're both up for it."

"You're sure?" Ben interjects. "Already? You don't want to discuss it before we—"

"I'm ready," says Rey, with a tiny shrug. "But if _you_ need more time to mentally prepare—"

"Let's go back to my place," he says. "It's more comfortable. We won't be all crowded together. You can use the shower in the guest bathroom."

 _What a fucking asshole._

Rey should have asked for a picture first. If she had seen this older guy, with an odd-looking face and a disproportionate nose, and hair that can't decide whether it wants to be long or short, maybe she would have politely declined. Or just _declined_. 

But letting Baz down isn't an option. She's such a generous mentor. A fucking _queen_. Rey could just listen to her talk for hours. She actually _had_ done that, before reaching out to her in a late night DM last month. Rose says she's infatuated. 

Maybe she is. 

Sometimes she's not sure if she wants to fuck her or _be_ her. There really isn't anything Rey wouldn't do for her. She _owes_ her. Kind of literally. 

But this one's tough to swallow. 

Ben Solo— _what a fucking fake-sounding name_ —looks at her like she's actual garbage. His obvious disdain brings her straight back to high school, dressed in hand-me-downs, scrawny and underfed, veering between being picked on and getting totally ignored. 

And she's supposed to share Baz with this condescending asshole? 

Does she need to...touch him? Will they be tagging in and out? Focusing on different...areas?

Rey wants to ask these questions. But it would look like weakness. And she absolutely cannot appear to be vulnerable in front of him. 

Better to go on offense than get stuck on defense. 

"Great," she says, reaching down behind her chair for her backpack. "I already have my stuff, so no need to go back to my apartment." 

So there. Force him to back down.

"We can take my car."

 

* * * *

 

Rey reluctantly admits to herself that Ben's apartment is impressive. The promised "guest bathroom" is larger than her entire bedroom and the shower is the complicated, multiple-sprayer kind that shoots water at you from every direction. 

She briefly contemplates luxuriating in the shower for thirty minutes, stealing his bath products and plush hand towels, and then sneaking back out the front door. 

Because she's really not looking forward to the "logistics conversation" they're supposed to have in his bedroom while Bazine shoots a quick "pre-game" video confessional in the living room. It's one of the things she admires about Baz's content: she gets so raw and honest with her audience. It's something Rey still can't bring herself to try. It's far easier to shoot simple fitness demos. 

But that's not what hooks subscribers. According to Baz, at least, you have to “let your emotions lead.” Whatever that means. 

She hadn't brought anything that could be considered "lingerie," and it seems odd to get fully dressed again, so Rey walks into the bedroom with the bath towel securely wrapped around her, like a strapless terry cloth cocktail dress.

His bedroom is painted some non-color—"slate gray" or something. 

He's not in there. 

She exhales, re-securing the towel and letting her eyes roam around the space. It's...kinda boring? It's a very _adult_ room, which makes sense, given the fact that he’s practically middle-aged.

There's the slightest creak. A door opening—she'd assumed it was a closet. If she peeked through the open door, Rey would see a massive bathroom—almost as big as the bedroom itself. 

But she doesn't notice the opening. 

Because Ben Solo is looking directly at her, breathing deeply, but evenly. She can see his chest expand with each inhale. Because Ben Solo is naked. 

He's, um, big. And his body is...solid. Very solid. And wide. 

Rey blinks and forces herself to focus her gaze anywhere else. He has very intense eyes and a cold way of staring at her that feels...invasive. And, most off-puttingly, he doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that she can see... _everything_. 

The truth is, she's never had a threesome. She'd never even been with a woman before Baz. What she lacks in experience, she makes up for in enthusiasm. 

And it's almost like he _knows_ that. Like he's looking right into her mind and finding all the insecurities and anxieties that she covers with outward bravado. 

It's fucking unsettling. 

"Do you want to strategize?" he asks, openly looking her up and down, even though the towel more than adequately covers her.

"You need a strategy with Baz?" she asks, with a touch of insincere surprise. "I usually just, you know, read her signals properly. Communicate with her. Ask her what's working and how many times she wants to come tonight. Proceed accordingly. But hey, strategies are cool. Did you play a lot of D&D in your basement back in the eighties?"

His eyes narrow. They hear the bedroom door open. 

"Just follow my lead,” he says, turning away from her.


	2. A Foursome?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threesomes aren't supposed to be competitive, but no one told Ben and Rey that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again, mind the tags and know that this story will contain smut that is not purely Reylo, even though it is, essentially, just another Reylo rom com. There's no angst, though! They are really just trying to beat each other at sex. Like the fight on Starkiller base, but with boning.
> 
> But, if that bothers you, then you know what to do! 
> 
> And if you're up for it, hop on into this dumpster with me!
> 
> I probably should have said this last time, but for context: FMF is different than FFM. The letter in the middle is important. The proposed threesome with Bazine as the "hinge" would be an FFM. 
> 
> If you want to understand more of the terms, this might be handy: [ More than Two glossary ](https://www.morethantwo.com/polyglossary.html). However, as I said last time, this is not meant to be a healthy, accurate depiction of real polyamory.

"I asked for a goddess vibe. It's like...you were both trying to cuck each other on top of me."

Bazine paces around the bedroom in the silk kimono she keeps at Ben's apartment, clutching a pamplemousse La Croix. 

Ben finds a random spot on the ceiling to fixate on, as both he and Rey sit—still naked—on opposite corners of the bed. 

"This was supposed to be about me celebrating myself. I'm really, really big on _respect_. I never agreed to do the Kylo roleplaying," she says, pointing a finger at Ben. "That's for special occasions _only_. And we discuss it first. "

Maybe he should have brought it up beforehand. But Bazine fucking _loves_ "Kylo."

"In a group situation—" he glances over at Rey, who is still pointedly looking elsewhere, "—someone needs to take charge. You can't have a threesome by committee." 

"No, Ben. I'm in charge. _Me_.” She takes another swig of La Croix like it’s bourbon or something. “And I asked you both to cooperate and work together to make this happen."

"I'm not the one who sat on your face!" Ben shouts, gesturing at the girl, but not looking at her.

"I was _invited_ to do that!" Rey protests.

"You were getting yourself off!" he yells, before adding, "Loudly," under his breath. 

"And you _weren't_ getting yourself off by fucking her? _You_ gave me top half, you greedy asshole. There are only so many things you can do with nipples—"

"My breasts are _valid_ erogenous zones!" Bazine cries, beginning to pace in front of the foot of the bed.

"—and directing me to hold her still while you fuck her is _not_ what this was supposed to be about."

"It was _supposed_ to be about Bazine. And she was _loving_ my cock until you went rogue. " He turns around on the bed in a way he hopes is intimidating. "How many threesomes have you been in?"

Rey huffs through her nose indignantly, returning his spiteful glare. 

"I've looked through plenty of Reddit threads." He rolls his eyes. "And I know this isn't the way it works because the only person who came is _you_." She pauses, as if considering whether to elaborate. "Accidentally."

"You are such a little—"

""Oh my god. Time and place! Both of you _shut up_!" Bazine yells as she throws the empty La Croix can across the room for emphasis. Ben and Rey both turn their attention to her as she dramatically faces away from the bed, placing her palms on Ben's dresser, her chunky rings clinking against the marble top. "I'm a really big believer in hitting the pause button, and thinking things through. This isn't going to work unless something changes."

"You're right, it's—"

"Three is an awkward number," Bazine announces, turning around. 

"Maybe we should just—"

"I'm texting Poe. We need a fourth. A buffer." As Ben opens his mouth to protest, Bazine raises her hand to silence him. "I think Rey clearly has needs that aren't being met with our—" she looks squarely at Ben "—current arrangement."

" _Poe Dameron_ is going to 'meet her needs?' "

"From what I hear, he meets most of yours," Rey mutters, earning a sharp glare from Ben. 

"Logically, he's perfect for this," Bazine insists, as she checks her eye makeup in the mirror. "We can slot him in anywhere." 

Rey fails to stifle a snort of laughter. 

"Bazine, we need to discuss this." Ben stands up from the bed reaching out for her arm. 

"Not now, I'm going to shoot another confessional video while my emotions are still raw."

" _Now_? About this?" 

"Absolutely. My subscribers love it when I fail at things." She takes one last glance at her reflection before adding, "And I expect the two of you to spend some one-on-one time together before we try this again. Work out this—" she pauses, thoughtfully, "—hostility."

"Baz!" Rey protests. _Like the whiny child she is._

"You owe me that much." 

Ben swears she gives her robe a slight twirl as she half-turns to exit the bedroom.

 

* * * *

 

Rey places her hand against a tree trunk and pulls her right foot up behind her butt for a quad stretch. She'd chosen this "work out your mutual hostility" activity because there's a very good chance she can beat Ben Solo at a simple 5K. 

First of all, he's too large to move quickly. Secondly, he probably puts all of his fitness effort into strength training in order to widen himself. It's really the only explanation for his, um, body.

Not that she's been thinking about that. She repeats the quad stretch with her other leg as she continues to not think about his body. 

Moving down to the grass to stretch her piriformis, she specifically does not recall Ben's pathetically cliched Dom persona, "Kylo Ren." Not that she has any direct, personal experience with those kinds of things. But she's read plenty of Harry Potter fan fiction. Maybe "Kylo" has, too. 

She lies on her back, pulling her right knee up to her chest, certainly not remembering how "Kylo" had _ordered_ Baz to "spread your legs nice and wide." Or how he'd postured in front of her, teasing, telling her to "look at how hard you make me." 

Except...Baz had clearly had her eyes squeezed shut. Rey had been the only person able to see _everything._ Because just prior to that moment, "Kylo" ( _fucking gimmicky moron_ ) had told Rey to "get behind Bazine and give her something to hold onto." 

Fucking asshole.

She wouldn't have done it. It'd been humiliating to cede power position right off the bat. But Baz had whined and begged Rey to hold her. For some reason, she's always rendered powerless when this woman—a real, adult woman with curves and signature scents and really cool vibrators—asks her for something. 

Baz says "acts of service" is Rey's love language. Maybe she's right. 

So she'd been stuck there, wedging herself behind Bazine, gathering up her new girlfriend's shiny dark hair and pulling it to the side before resting Baz's head on her chest and cradling her from behind. All while "Kylo" had proceeded to fuck her like the world was going to end within the hour.

It would have been bad enough, Rey thinks as she grasps her right knee with her left hand, if he had just done that silently. But _noooo_ , apparently "Kylo" likes to talk. He's _very_ vocal. 

"You want this cock inside you?" He'd looked directly at Rey when he said this; he hadn't even _tried_ to hide it.

"Yes," Bazine had agreed breathlessly, eyes still squeezed shut. 

"You want me to fill you up?" he'd asked, pulling out almost all the way, leaving her hanging. 

"Yes!" she’d cried before he thrust into her again, knocking the headboard against the wall. 

Rey had to keep shifting as Baz squirmed in her arms, the tips of her gel manicure nails pressing uncomfortably into her arms and back. "Kylo" had seemed to take particular pleasure in yelling at Rey to "hold her still."

She'd felt her cheeks burning, the anger growing from disbelief to rage. But it was all twisted up with something else. 

Usually when men pull these testosterone-fueled stunts (like pulling up next to her at a red light in an obvious midlife-crisis-mobile or extra-loud Harley Davidson), she assumes it's to compensate for a small penis. 

Unfortunately, she's 100 percent sure that's not true in Ben Solo's case. 

"Rey, she's so wet. I wish you could see this. What I do to her." 

"Yeah, I really wish I _could_ see anything," Rey had mumbled, from a vantage point where all she could see was Ben slamming into her over and over and over and—. 

She'd fucking hated that she could almost feel _him_ through Bazine. How her girlfriend's perfect body had arched and strained and taken him in. 

Supposedly the idea is to feel happy for your partner—to take pleasure in their pleasure.

 _Fuck that_ , Rey thinks, pressing her back into the grass, as she repeats the deep glute stretch on the other side, tuning out the memory of his stupid voice by humming to herself.

"Do you like that? You like when I'm fucking you this hard?"

He'd been _subjecting_ Rey to each punishing second-hand thrust, all the while glaring at her. Like hate sex without any of the actual satisfaction.

"You're such a fucking little slut for my cock." 

She is definitely not replaying that sentence on repeat in her mind’s Spotify playlist. She hums louder.

God, his over-the-top obsession with his own dick...Is he that threatened? Had he even done more than a cursory swipe at Baz's clit? _Probably not!_

Even so—

Rey feels herself squeezing her left leg _really_ hard against her right shoulder. She is not at all imagining what it might be like to—to just get—

He's glaring down at her. For real. From about six feet up above her head. 

”Why the fuck are you humming?”

 

* * * *

 

They agree to jog the first four kilometers together, in a non-competitive manner—satisfying Bazine's "one-on-one time" requirement—before racing to the end. But the girl's "easy" jogging pace is more like a seven-minute mile, which forces Ben to sprint in order to get ahead of her. They're both too winded to do much more than grunt at each other.

It's fine, because they both struggle to come up with enough innocuous questions to fill the fifteen minutes it takes to do the "friendly jog" portion of the course. 

So Ben occupies his mind with the memory that has been aggressively intruding into his subconscious for the last week: the girl, staring at him—in stunned silence—while he fucked Bazine senseless. 

Perhaps it had been an unfair power move, whipping out the Kylo persona—along with his dick—so soon. But it's best to shut down interlopers quickly and definitively. And he'd just about done it, turning the girl from a threat to a mere voyeur. 

Until—

There'd been some moment where her expression changed: from shock and fascination to something more like fury. 

She had maneuvered away from her seated position behind Bazine and kneeled at her left side. 

"I'm gonna play with your tits, okay?" Nothing too alarming about that. Breasts had been playing more of a supporting role in the encounter anyway. "They're getting neglected."

She'd glanced at him, reaching across Bazine's chest to tweak her right nipple. Ben had watched this move like a hawk. 

"God, they're so sensitive in the cold." An annoyed, frustrated hawk. "Mine, too."

He'd waited, already distracted, for the girl to introduce some kind of perverse mommy kink into the proceedings to counter his Dom/sub dynamic, but she never did. 

Instead, things had taken a unexpected turn. 

"I need to touch myself, Baz. It's too much, just watching you. I just need—fuck, I'm aching. Can I touch myself? Please?"

He'd felt some energy shift at that point—as if he was no longer holding the steering wheel. 

"Let me help you." Bazine had said in a low voice, reaching for the girl's hips.

"You want to try?" Rey had given him the tiniest little hint of a tight, smug smile after she'd said it. 

"Yeah. Yeah I wanna try, please. Let me take care of you." 

This had been _amazingly_ out of character for Bazine. The woman is used to being catered to. She's sat on a lot of _other_ people's faces, but never the reverse, as far as he knows. Maybe it had been his own fault for getting her so worked up, so out of her mind.

"We’re supposed to be taking care of _Bazine_ ," he'd snapped. 

"She wants to." Rey had given Ben a tiny nonchalant shrug as she turned and straddled just above Bazine's shoulders, facing him, and started moaning immediately. 

"Oh. Oh my fucking God. Keep going. Shit, your mouth is so—" The girl had begun full-on writhing and shaking over Bazine—who, frankly, didn't seem to be doing that much—like she was reenacting some ancient occult ritual. "Hhnnngghhhfuuuuucckk. Yes, baby. Oh my God, you're doing so good." 

No one gets _that_ excited after two seconds of oral from someone so inexperienced. Ben _knows_ actresses. And wannabe actresses. 

That said—

The girl had been veryenthusiastic. _Very_. Not that Bazine isn't generally enthusiastic. She is. She definitely, definitely is. 

_Not like this, though._ The sounds the girl had made. Jesus Christ. 

It had obviously just been a show—a way to upstage him—but a pretty fucking convincing one. He'd found himself increasing the pace of his own thrusts, watching her performance. Her small breasts had bounced against her chest as she moved her hips, staring directly back at him, watching him watch her, crying out obscenities. He'd felt himself getting dangerously close to the edge. He should have stopped. He definitely should have slowed the fuck down. Except—she'd thrown her head back, exposing the column of her throat in a way that made Ben want to reach out and just touch the hollow of—

“Fuck.” He couldn’t help himself. “ _Fuck FUCK FUUUUUCCCK._ " 

And that was that. 

Yeah, best not to think about that _mid-fucking-jog_. The bewildered, disatisfied look on Bazine's face had been particularly sobering. Nothing like that had happened to him in a _very_ long time. Bazine _always_ comes first. Always.

"Where'd you grow up?" she asks between inhales.

"Huh?" It's like he's forgotten that they are currently running practically shoulder to shoulder. 

"I'm trying to be polite. Or whatever," she says between inhales. "Where'd you grow up?" 

"Here. Where'd you go to college?" 

"I didn't." 

"Do you teach classes or do personal training?"

"Why, do you need some help with muscle definition?" she replies, glancing at his torso. "Are you trying to get bigger tits or something?"

"I'd hardly take advice from you about _that_."

"Ooh, sick burn. Meanwhile, I bet I could do more crunches than you. I saw your abs."

"I could probably deadlift both you and Bazine at the same. I could probably get both my hands around your waist and make them touch." 

If they weren't both red in the face from the exertion of keeping up this pace, he'd say she was blushing.

"Yeah, like I've never heard that I'm small before." She wipes at her shiny forehead with the back of her hand. "I'm stronger than you know."

"What you lack in size, you compensate for in volume." She gives him a funny look, wrinkling her nose a tiny bit. "I mean, you're loud as fuck." 

She raises her eyebrows.

"That's an interesting observation coming from someone who can't shut up about his dick. 'My cock' this, 'my cock' that. Like, we _get it_. You have a penis. Why do men always think _that's_ the most exciting part of sex?" 

"Maybe you should sleep with more men."

He expects her to respond with an enormous eye roll, but she maintains a calm expression.

"Actually I just fucked a man a few days ago."

_Oh?_

"And?"

"He actually couldn't stop talking about his dick, either."

"Well, we are legally obligated to do that."

Ben catches just a hint of either a smile or a grimace on her lips.

"And I have _no_ interest in training you or your muscles or lack thereof. But, uh, you should try some weighted narrow-grip underhand pull ups." 

"Do you have some other job or do you fitness blog on a full-time basis?"

He catches her irritated glance in his direction. 

"I used to pick up broken electric scooters and repair them but I got fired." 

Shocking.

"I didn't know you could get fired from that." 

"The guy who owned the business used to verbally berate my friend Rose, even though she could repair anything. So we started trashing the scooters in really creative ways to try and get him in trouble with the scooter company." She slows her pace a bit and Ben follows suit, relieved to have a respite from the sprinting. "Turns out, they don't really give a shit, they just put out more scooters. But we posted some really crazy scooter vigilante vandalism videos to YouTube and that's how I got started on social." 

"Bazine said you were, uh, 'street smart.' "

"People seem to like the idea of a cute bi girl trying parkour stunts and giving them fitness tips. Baz is always encouraging me to define my personal brand so..."

A cute bi girl? How Millennial—no, _Generation Z_ of her. _Try being bi back when there was no such thing as a "trendy bisexual."_

"What's your personal brand?"

She cocks her head to the side, like she needs to consider the question. 

"I think... _enthusiasm_?"

"You definitely know how to put on a show."

She gives him another one of her semi-accusatory looks before taking off into a sprint again. With a frustrated sigh, he speeds up, too, taking long strides— _a lot longer than hers_ —and just about catching up. 

Ben keeps pace with her right up until the last ten or so meters, when she unleashes a final burst of speed right through the finish line. 

_Fuck_. She'll probably text Bazine with their finishing times. 

But he doesn't have the chance to worry about that, because he sees a familiar face in the crowd— _"crowd" is a generous term for a race called the "Turtle Trot"_ —waving to catch the girl's attention. 

He stops abruptly, letting the other runners brush past him as they cross the finish line. He's mildly surprised—but not altogether _shocked_ —to see Rey jumping (not that high up) into the arms of Poe Dameron. 

Really, she barely has to jump. She might be taller than him. 

"Solo!" he shouts. "Dude!"

Ben grumbles some choice expletives as he walks as slowly as possible over to their very public display of affection. 

"This is... _new_ ," Ben says, as Poe forces him into an awkward bro hug. 

"Baz introduced us the day after the—well, and Poe invited me to his hash—"

"You're still doing that shit?" Ben interjects as Poe shrugs. 

"—and it was so fun. God, I got so drunk." 

"From the down-downs. She was the cutest New Boot."

Ben watches them touch each other, mentally calculating whether this situation is likely to work out in his favor. Poe and Rey actually make a lot of sense on paper. _Maybe Rey would exit the picture altogether to continue hashing with Poe and his merry band of idiots._

"Bazine wanted us to meet and feel comfortable with each other," Rey explains, as if reading his thoughts. "I guess, after what happened with—well…"

"We're _very_ comfortable with each other now," adds Poe, unnecessarily. "I'm really looking forward to Wednesday." There's an unsettling look in his eye. Of course he is. The man loves to intrude.

"Good race," Rey says, sticking out her hand for him to shake. There's a touch of something—maybe, _reluctance_ in her voice.

"Good race," he agrees, taking her hand. There's something odd in it, a little buzz when their palms touch. Her head moves back ever so slightly and she gives him another one of her inscrutable funny looks. 

It occurs to him that this is only the second time they've touched. 

"You made good time," says Poe, as they break the handshake. "Glad to see your stamina improved this time, Solo." He's grinning. Rey looks down. 

That fucking asshole hasn't changed a bit. 

Ben nods, forcing his face to stay neutral. It's fine. Let these two team up. He knows what he has to do. He'll just have to out-sex _both of them_ at this foursome. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Hashing"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hash_House_Harriers) is basically a "drinking club with a running problem." A dumb ex of mine was really into this and wouldn't shut up about it, so this is the world's most insignificant revenge.


	3. Presentation Deck for an Orgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben, Bazine, and Rey attempted a threesome that didn’t go as planned because Ben and Rey really fucking hate each other. But will they be hate-FUCKING each other at some point? 
> 
> Their attempt at “bonding” ended in a certain amount of begrudging sexual frustration. Ben hit his breaking point when he learned that Rey has been hooking up with Poe Dameron, their prospective fourth and his longtime frenemy.
> 
> Or maybe Poe, who seemingly has the hots for everyone, will be the stabilizing force they all need…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all. **I cannot emphasize this enough. Mind the tags.** This isn’t that explicit in terms of like, body part terminology and details of mechanics, but if you’re not okay with the *premise* of the fic, you might be upset. So if you’re not into it, please click away and don’t bother leaving an angry comment about it. 
> 
> This is TRASH. Utter trash. I’m well aware. I’m just having a little fun while I wrap up my main fic. 
> 
> There isn’t much Tati quoting in this one, but there will be a ton more in the next (last) chapter, when she CLAPS BACK. [@bazineapologist, I apologize in advance for the Bazine erasure in this chapter.]
> 
> This is un-beta’ed and might have a few mistakes. Thanks to @selunchen for helping me out with some inspirational story points! 
> 
> CW: there is some sketchy/gray area consent stuff in a few instances. I've tried to update the tags to be on the safe side. There's also a terrible NSFW-ish sketch about 1/3 down the page.

Poe Dameron is wearing a scarf.

"Solo!" he exclaims, throwing the front door wide open. "Your mom says 'hi.' "

He's wearing a lightweight linen scarf, despite the fact that it's not even jacket weather. 

Also hanging around his neck are the girl's arms. Because apparently she’d needed a piggyback ride up from the sidewalk. Bazine would call it _precious_. Ben finds it _cringeworthy_. Rey is suspended precariously off his back (in as much as that's possible when he's _maybe_ an inch taller than her), wearing a delighted expression. 

It's completely fucking inappropriate to enter into a foursome that way. Not that Ben has previously been involved in a foursome, but it seems like obvious etiquette. This is _supposed_ to be about Bazine. They're only here to make _her_ fantasy come true; they can fuck around with cutesy PDA bullshit on their own time.

Luckily, Bazine misses their ridiculous grand entrance because she's in Ben’s office, recording. 

Ben's been watching her channel lately. He's never done that before; it's always felt too uncomfortable to listen to Bazine’s unvarnished thoughts about "Kylo." And he certainly doesn't need to hear her hot takes on any of her other partners. But he's been watching the episodes where she talks about “Kira.”

For research. 

And he can't quite shake the feeling that Bazine sees Rey like a blank slate. Like a wide-eyed innocent. Like a baby bird who needs feeding and nurturing. 

Maybe the girl is looking for a mentor, but she's certainly no baby bird. Ben makes a mental note to to download _All About Eve_ for Bazine. Or maybe _Showgirls_ , which is basically the same cautionary tale, but probably more Bazine’s speed, if he’s being honest. 

He can see what’s happening here. Maybe even that dumbass Poe Dameron can see it. But Bazine has this blindspot. She's carved out this narrative where she’s the Henry Higgins to Rey’s Eliza Doolittle. 

There’s just no way Rey is as naive as he’d first assumed. She’d certainly laid waste to those electric scooters. Not that he'd watched many of her early videos. Just four or five. 

Again, for research.

Poe sets Rey down on her feet (which had been a whopping two inches off the ground), and immediately heads for the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door like someone gave him the fucking right.

“We need a game plan,” says Ben, purposely using crude sports-centric terminology to which Poe can relate. Maybe Rey, too. 

“I have it all figured out,” Poe assures them, popping open one of the cans of La Croix that Ben specifically keeps for Bazine. “A little something for everyone.” Ben doesn’t appreciate the way his childhood friend's eyes linger on him a beat too long. 

“Four people is too many at once. Bazine and I already discussed—”

“Bro. We’re good. We talked about it on the way over.” 

"Who's 'we,' _bro_?"

Poe nods toward Rey, who hasn’t said anything yet, but is watching them interact with curiosity. 

“You and Rey just keep Bazine happy," Poe says, "and I’ll keep you two happy. We’re all gonna have a great time."

"That’s what concerns me. I want to talk through the scenarios I discussed with her on Monday. I have it scripted out so there won't be any fuck ups this time." He quickly glances at Rey, whose curious expression is now tipping over into incredulity. 

" _You_ have it scripted?" she exclaims. 

Of course he fucking has it scripted. He’s already fed Bazine a plan to neutralize the girl, leaving only Poe Dameron to worry about.

"Sit down. We're going to walk through it," Ben says, retrieving his iPad. Poe sets the La Croix can down on the coffee table without a fucking coaster.

 

* * * *

 

Ben turns on his iPad and positions it on the coffee table so they can all see it. There are _diagrams_. 

"You made a presentation deck?" Poe grabs the tablet to take a closer look. "For an orgy?" 

"Yes. Because _someone_ —" he nods conspicuously in Rey's direction "—went rogue last time. Let me know if you think you'll need cue cards or hand signals to keep up. And it’s not an ‘orgy.’"

"Jesus, Solo. You never fucking change." 

Ben snatches the iPad out of Poe’s hand and places it back on the table, resting on the stand that folds out from its black case. 

Rey has a pretty good idea of what's coming. So to speak. Baz had texted her late Tuesday night with a question. 

A question about restraints. 

Handcuffs, specifically. 

It's not something Rey has much experience with—being tied up. Baz has never asked about that before. She's never expressed an interest in being the tie-er or the tie-ee. 

So it's curious...that immediately after Bazine had strategized with Ben, this new idea had come up. _Very curious._

Apparently it's some scenario related to a fantasy film from the 80s: some lady gets chained up to a squishy blob creature, while dressed in an extremely skimpy bikini for a good ten to fifteen minutes of the run time. Baz had sent a screenshot, but it hadn’t looked familiar. Or like something she would be into. 

_At all_. 

So it's either something Ben's into or he's just too scared to let her have the full use of her hands this time. _Coward_. 

Rey watches, eyes narrowed, as Ben swipes forward to the next slide. There's a simple line drawing of two male/female couples having missionary sex, side by side. 

"We did the research. You're supposed to keep it straightforward at the beginning. You two and Bazine and me—"

"To start," Poe interjects. "We could always swap." 

"—no!" Rey adds, feeling a sudden spike of adrenaline.

"—that's not necessary," says Ben. "Your job is to focus on... _her_." He makes a vague gesture towards Rey like he can’t be bothered to utter her name. _Prick_.

“—and you,” Poe adds.

Ben ignores him, but it almost looks like his cheeks flush. He swipes a few slides forward, showing possible variations: both women on top, in cowgirl position, the women figures laying on their sides and facing each other, with a man behind each of them. 

"The specifics are really up to Bazine,” he insists. “We all agree to let her call the shots, correct?"

"I have a comment,” Rey says, tapping an unmanicured finger on the iPad screen. “This is very hetero. And it's not even very creative. Plus, if I'm—" she pauses, looking carefully at Ben "— _restrained_ , I can't do anything useful with my hands. It hardly seems fair. To Bazine. "

"I've been running Twitter polls all week, babe," Bazine says, having apparently entered the living room while they were immersed in the diagrams. "This is what the subscribers want me to try. This is what they voted for." She’s already dressed in her silk kimono and leaning over the back of Ben’s dark gray, Restoration Hardware-aesthetic sofa. 

“I’m sure,” says Rey, flatly. She pictures a spiteful Ben compulsively clicking on the polls. Or forcing some underling at his mysterious workplace to design a bot or algorithm or something to vote on every option where Rey is either occupied with Poe or turned into a bystander. 

Poe clears his throat and grabs the iPad again. 

"I'm all for giving our girl what she wants. But I think we should each get at least one request."

"I think that's fair," Baz says, running her perfectly manicured nails over Rey's scalp. She _smells_ amazing. Like fucking _myrrh_ or something. Like fancier patchouli. 

"I have a request," Rey pipes up, sensing a brief opportunity for input while Poe futzes with the tablet. "Maybe we should watch Poe and Ben together.” The words tumble out quickly, almost under her breath. 

Ben whips his head around.

“That’s not—” He runs an enormous hand through his hair, and Rey can see that the tips of his ears are red. "What about Bazine?"

"Ooh, I _love_ that," Baz agrees, peeking over Poe's shoulder, as Ben literally sweats. "Are you drawing something, Poe?"

"Yes. Hang on, almost done." He swipes his index finger across the screen, biting his lip in concentration before turning the iPad around for their perusal. 

"What _is_ that?" Ben asks, squinting at a crude line drawing that looks like more of a Human Centipede rather than “hot foursome” configuration. 

"It's an Oral Train," he says, slightly exasperated, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Who's who?" Ben presses.

"That's the beauty of it! It doesn't matter. We could draw straws for positions."

"Let me guess," Rey says, looking at Ben, "you want to be the guy who's just getting blown in position one, without reciprocating."

"What makes you think I don't want to reciprocate?"

"What makes me think that? How about: you're selfish, demanding, jealous—"

"Bazine can vouch for my ability to reciprocate." 

"So can I," adds Poe. "In some areas, at least." Ben rolls his eyes. "I dunno Rey, maybe we should put you in the number one spot. And Ben in number two. Or maybe Bazine would have fun watching—"

"This is exactly why we scripted it," Ben insists, wrenching the iPad out of Poe's hand. "To avoid total chaos. We're going to go through each of the positions on the slides and end at number six."

"The one where I'm just sitting there?" Rey asks, staring sadly at graphic showing a woman getting spit roasted while another woman—presumably Rey—merely watches a few feet away.

"You're the most important part," Baz insists. "I think it's _so_ hot to add a voyeur into the mix. That's, like, the one good thing to come out of last time. We're gonna be looking at each other. And you're gonna get so worked up—" Rey notices Ben's eyes narrowing again "—and then the boys will leave—"

"This is _my_ apartment," Ben objects.

"—and we'll go nuts on each other."

"You won't be tired by then?" Rey asks, feeling pretty certain that Bazine will be overwhelmed and passed out after Slide Six, if not by Slide Three. 

"For you?” Baz gently massages Rey’s shoulders. “Never."

“And when can I take the handcuffs off?”

“When I say,” Baz promises. “Or if you say ‘red light,’ we’ll totally stop. And I’ll more than make it up to you after. I promise.”

With that, Bazine retreats back into the office to “prepare.” Ben doesn't look happy at all—which should please Rey, because _fuck that guy_. 

Except. 

There's some tugging feeling. It's a bit of a surprise that Baz expects Rey's main contribution to kick in _after_ the men exit stage left. After _Ben_ exits stage left. It’s almost _disappointing_. 

She'd kind of been looking forward to—well… She'd assumed she'd have another chance to kick his ass—definitively—after all that crap he'd pulled.

 _Yes, that's exactly it_. 

Because she certainly hasn't been fucking Poe all week while picturing someone a little different in her mind's eye. Not anyone specific. Just someone... _taller_. Because Poe would really be perfect if he were a bit taller. Just six or seven inches. 

Someone who doesn't fucking _smile_ like that all the damn time. Rey smiles. But not like Poe. 

And if he happened to have a deeper, more resonant voice? She wouldn't kick him out of bed.

The thing is, Poe is almost _too_ traditionally good looking. _Yes! That's the problem._ He's classically handsome in the same way that Baz is perfectly pretty. 

She wouldn't hate it if he had a more...distinctive face. A more interesting, _unusual_ face, perhaps. With a disproportionate nose. And deep brown eyes that just look so _needy_ all the time. And still-damp, freshly washed hair that’s just a little bit too long.

Yeah. She wouldn't hate it. 

 

* * * *

 

“Bro, I need to use your shower.” Poe doesn’t wait for a _yes_ , he just makes his way toward the guest room. “This one already got me sweaty.” He nods toward Rey as he ambles down the hall, brushing past Ben. 

“He means the piggyback ride,” Rey says. “We passed by a Cinnabon on the way. You can’t _not_ stop.” She rubs her stomach, which looks flat as ever. “I probably gained three pounds in icing weight alone and he made this big deal about me being too heavy to carry.” 

“Charming,” says Ben. “Follow me.” It comes out a little more sharply than he intends. “The handcuffs are in the butler’s pantry.” 

She rises from the sofa and follows him to the little space off the kitchen that functions as a neatly organized, closet-sized sex accessory junk drawer. The restraints don’t take long to find. He’d pulled them out of the drawer two days ago when the idea first occurred to him. 

Rey tilts her head. “What? You don’t approve of cinnamon rolls now? Add it to the list of my offenses.” 

“I envy your metabolism,” is all he manages to reply ( _what amazing repartee, Solo!_ ) as he hands her the handcuffs to inspect. He’s not sure why he does it, like he’s about to perform a magic trick and she's the audience volunteer, but it feels like the fair thing to do. “You’ll need to take your clothes off before I put them on,” he adds. “Your shirt, at least.”

She takes the restraints from him and it looks like she’s careful not to brush her fingers against his. 

“I thought they were gonna be, like, the police ones,” she says, examining the fur-lined leather cuffs adjoined with a short silver chain.

“It’s not good to use real handcuffs for bondage,” he explains. “They really hurt your wrists.”

“They really do,” she says. He’s not sure if she’s implying that she’s tried them in the bedroom, or in the back of a squad car. He’s not turned off by either possibility. 

She hands the restraints back to him, before peeling her t-shirt over her head. There’s a medium-sized hole in the side seam of the shirt. 

“How are you feeling about this?” she asks. Her tone is so neutral, he can't tell if it's small talk or some kind of trap. She toes off her Tom’s knockoffs and then pulls down her leggings, bending slightly at the waist to get them over her feet. 

“Elated,” he deadpans. 

Now that they’ve been forced into close proximity, he’s noticing things that were a lot easier to ignore in the living room.

He hadn’t expected her to be wearing makeup. Or to have her hair mostly down. 

Or to be wearing lingerie under her unspectacular clothing, which is now lying in a pile on the floor. Actual, official lingerie. With lace and sheer portions that stretch over her skin and hug tightly against her modest curves.

She looks a bit nervous in it, which leads him to believe that this is not a typical occurrence for her. She must have decided—or Bazine had made a request—to doll herself up a bit for the occasion. It's an odd color: some kind of garish aqua or turquoise that must have been on sale, he thinks, uncharitably. It doesn't look like something Bazine would select. 

So maybe the girl went shopping on her own—to Marshalls or something—and picked out this matching set. 

It's a bit endearing, really.

"Why are you so threatened by me?" she asks, as he fits her left wrist into one of the cuffs. "I'm a nobody." He presses the cuff gently against her wrist, not meeting her eyes. "I'm obviously not here to 'steal' Baz from you." She nods down at her wrist before looking up at him again. "You don't have to do this—keep me sidelined. I know it was your idea."

The metal closure clicks into place as his brain cycles through a series of possible responses, none of them right. 

When he doesn’t come up with anything, she continues:

"We don't need to declare ourselves mortal enemies just because we're both dating Baz. This whole thing would be easier if we just—"

"If Poe is so great, what are you even doing with Bazine?" It just slips out, with zero premediation. "Why do this at all?"

The girl furrows her brow. 

“If _you’re_ so great, then why does Baz need to invite _two_ other people into your sex life?”

“She needs to produce _content_!”

“Yeah, sure, that’s all that’s happening here,” she says under her breath, adding an eye roll for emphasis. She sighs and her face softens slightly. “Poe _is_ great. But fucking him again is kind of the part of this that I'm _least_ excited about." 

He feels himself do an actual double take.

"What?"

"Like, your Slide One? 'Easing into it?' " He reaches for her other wrist. "It's fine. I get why it's a good place to start, but...l dunno. He's kind of full of himself, and he won't shut up about his dick, and he gets this really funny look on his face when he's about to—"

"Yeah."

Ben looks down as he tries to make his mouth do something other than grin. 

"It's pretty hilarious." Her eyes roam around the enclosed space, and he can almost _feel_ the conversation change directions like a shifting wind. "Sometimes I wish..." she trails off and Ben realizes he's merely been holding her right wrist for the past ten seconds. 

"You wish?"

"It might be fun to be the hinge. At some point. I mean, I'm happy for Baz...to make this happen for her. It feels good to do that—be a part of that. But I always end up in the service of someone else. All my jobs. Fixing things for people. Training people. Even the YouTuber stuff. It's just like 'please like me,' 'please let me stay' over and over again." She looks down. "It would be nice to just be the first choice. To feel...wanted." 

"I'm pretty sure you're—" he swallows "— _wanted_. Bazine talks about you enough. At least on her Patreon episodes.”

"I'm glad she's 'realizing this dream' or whatever. But it's still _her_ dream."

Ben catches his own mind racing down a very specific path, fueled by the way Rey had been looking at him last time. He’s still just holding her wrist for some reason. 

He clears his throat and clicks the right cuff closed. 

"I've been facilitating her experiences for awhile. I'm good at it."

"Oh, I'm good at it too,” she agrees. "I'm fucking great at it. But sometimes...I guess I wouldn't mind having someone, uh, facilitate _my_ experience. Don't you want someone to do that for you?"

She's looking up at him with enormous doe eyes. Or maybe it's just the makeup. Or the soft tone she's using. Or the fact that this is—maybe—the first time anyone's offered to do anything for him. Not that she actually offered.

But he feels it again: this strange urge to just lean his head down and—

No, she definitely didn't _offer_. 

But then why is she staring at him like that? 

Fuck. _Fuck. This is about Bazine you asshole._ This is a terrible fucking headspace for someone who needs to take the reins of a fucking foursome in about three minutes. 

Mentally slapping himself a couple times, he releases her wrists and grips her arm, just above the elbow, leading her into the bedroom, just as Bazine had requested. 

 

* * * *

 

Rey doesn't get nervous often. 

In fact, she hadn’t been nervous at the idea of a foursome, in general—even the restraints. She trusts Baz. She's like, the hot best friend of your older sister. Except Rey doesn't have a sister. But she's read books where there are older sister characters with beautiful, cool best friends who seem to _know_ everything, and that’s Baz.

And there's certainly no reason to be nervous about Poe. 

He’s great. A really fun guy.

Probably one of the better sexual partners she’s had.

Definitely in the top...three. No, top four. 

Out of six. 

Sometimes it’s nice to know what to expect. And she pretty much knows _exactly_ what to expect from him.

So it’s great. 

She doesn’t feel _any_ kind of shiver when Solo grabs her arm like that. 

When she feels his eyes drinking in her body before glancing away. And then looking again. 

When they enter his bedroom and find themselves unexpectedly alone. 

When there’s a tickle against her back and she can’t do anything about it—except squirm and shrug her shoulders—with her hands bound in front of her. 

When she asks him to scratch just a little bit below her right shoulder blade and it seems like he swallows hard before raising his hand to her back. 

She tenses as he curls his fingers against a spot that’s just a little too low, before dragging his nails up, hard. Too hard. She catches herself making a surprised noise and it comes out more like a moan. 

He scratches— _hard_ —again before pinching at the ticklish spot and _yanking_ at something on the stretchy elastic band. She whips her head around to face him. 

“A thread. Your bra is unraveling.” He’s holding up a strand of frayed turquoise.

Rey inhales sharply, feeling her cheeks blush. She grabs at the thread, closing it in her palm. 

“Sweet. Maybe I can return it now,” she says. “I should ask Baz to buy me a new one.”

He scoffs softly.

“Who do you think buys Bazine’s lingerie?”

She rolls her eyes and takes a step back from him. 

Suddenly there’s a soft, excited little scream of delight from the entrance to the bedroom. A second later, Rey and Ben watch as Poe comes stomping in, wearing a towel—and bizarrely—his scarf, cradling a squirming Bazine in his arms, bridal carry-style. 

“The lady of the hour!” he announces, with a flourish, before dropping her on the bed on her butt. "My queen."

“Nice scarf,” Ben says, voice dripping with acid. 

“It’s no cowl, but it has a purpose.” Poe unwinds the linen from around his neck, chuckling lightly to himself. "Please tell me you're still doing the whole 'Kylo' thing."

"I do whatever Bazine requests."

"Oh yeah, it's definitely _Bazine_ that enjoys that character," Poe retorts as he twists the scarf until it becomes a thin piece of fabric. "I thought this might come in handy.” He reaches for Rey's hands. “Oh damn, actual handcuffs? This is fucking serious, huh?”

Rey can't help but notice that her eyes automatically drift back to Ben, as Poe continues talking about the symbolism of using his scarf ( _bullshit_ ) and how amazing the whole voyeur experience will be for her. Ben is looking at her, too, and if Baz notices, she doesn't say anything. Mostly because she's tapping away on her phone. She does that sometimes—tries to capture her "before thoughts." Something about _immediacy_ and her _truths_. 

“Maybe I can still use it to tie the cuffs to the bed,” Poe suggests, testing out the amount of slack available if the scarf stretches from the vertical slats of the headboard versus the bedpost.

“Really?” Rey asks, cautiously. “It’s not enough that I can’t use my hands?”

“Just try it. Come on, scoot back.”

_God, is there a less sexy word than "scoot"?_

With a sigh, Rey positions herself with her back against the headboard, eyeing Poe warily as he raises her hands up slightly and ties one end of the scarf to the bedpost. 

"I think it would be lovely to pay each of you a compliment before we get started. It's part of a listicle I read in _Bustle_ ," Bazine announces, tossing her phone aside and enclosing Ben's hands—his large, _large_ hands—in her own. "Ben, you have a way of saying the most gorgeous things that make me feel so special. Thank you." Rey isn’t convinced that counts as a compliment. He seems to nod, but his head remains lowered as Baz turns around to address her, squeezing her thigh gently. "Rey, I can't wait until we take our first brand trip together. I think I'll know you for the rest of my life." Rey manages a tight smile. "And Poe? You look really hot tonight."

"Thank you, Bazine," Poe says, with the most genuine grin ( _again with the incessant smiles_ ), removing his towel and putting a hand on his hip, like there's a post-compliment photo op. "Isn't she the greatest?" 

"The greatest," Rey agrees, even as she catches herself meeting Ben's hooded gaze. 

"I'm ready to begin the festivities now," Baz says, glancing at Poe. He winks back at her because of course he does. He's a man who poses like Captain Morgan, without even meaning to. 

He turns back to Rey and starts pulling her lacy underwear down her thighs, while Baz shrugs off her silky kimono and begins to undress Ben, who hasn't moved from the foot of the bed. 

Which just leaves Ben and Rey to...well, _stare_ at each other. Again. 

She wants to look away. She really, _really_ does. She doesn’t want to reformulate a crystal clear vision in her head where Ben has her bent over his stupidly tasteful charcoal linen weave sofa and he enters her in one long, agonizingly slow thrust, while Baz is in the other room, reviewing a particularly loud vibrator. That kind of thing has certainly _never_ floated into her brain and wormed its way into her subconscious, reappearing at inconvenient times, like when Bazine wants to talk about sponcon and value exchange. And it’s definitely not on her mind now that Poe has her lacy hipster briefs around her ankles. Instead of thinking about _that_ , she swallows and it feels like the world's most enormous, visible gulp. Like a cartoon character. 

"Damn, Rey," says Poe, “You're already so wet." 

"That's the effect _Baz_ has on me, I guess," she says, hoping that Poe doesn't think too hard about why she's probably more turned on than she's ever been when it's just the two of them in Poe's apartment.

He tosses the panties carelessly behind him, hitting Ben in the face. Ben's eyes definitely flash _something_ , as he catches the bright aqua lace in his fist as it starts to fall from his shoulder. For a second, Rey wonders if he’ll throw them back, possibly at her head. But he doesn’t. He just shakes his head slightly, balls them up in his hand, and turns his attention back to Bazine. 

Rey has a strange suspicion—a gut feeling, really—that she might not see her underwear again.

Poe moves his hands to her back, fumbling with the hook and eye closure of her bra. 

“Oh shit,” he exclaims, tugging at the strap, “we should have taken off your bra _before_ putting on the handcuffs.”

They all pause for a beat. Poe runs his hand through his hair and blows out a breath, like this is seriously difficult algebra problem. Ben’s eyes shift uncomfortably between Rey’s half exposed breasts and the pretentious painting over the headboard. Bazine tilts her head to the right and knits her brows together. 

“I mean, really it’s just like a supplemental pair of handcuffs,” she says with a slight shrug. 

Poe considers it for a moment and then nods, pulling the bra down so that the straps rest loosely around her wrists and the cups hang limply in between her arms. Between the scarf and the sheer material of the bra, there’s an awful lot of fabric to contend with. And the price tag is still dangling conspicuously from one of the lacy cups. 

Ben probably notices. And judges. _Douchebag_. 

But that douchebag isn’t her concern right now. Rey fully expects Poe to just push her onto her back and start right in on Slide One. He has the _enthusiasm_ of a man who claims to give the greatest oral in the galaxy, but perhaps falls short in terms of actual _skill_. But instead he moves himself across the bed and drags Baz back backward, so that she and Rey are lying side by side, with him in between.

“Lucky me,” he murmurs. Rey closes her eyes and it's totally not because she wants to picture someone else running his hand across her breasts and then down to her belly and lower and lower until his giant— _enormous_ —fucking hand reaches the apex of her thighs and his fingers slide into her—

She hears Bazine groan and blinks her eyes open. Poe has a hand on Bazine, too. In fact, he has his mouth on one of her tits. Meaning Rey is getting the afterthought hand. _Is Poe left- or right-handed?_ she wonders. Because it definitely _feels_ like she's stuck with the non-dominant, less-dexterous hand. 

Rey opens her mouth to say something—she actually tries to poke him with her fingers, but the goddamn restraints, _fuck this stupid idea_ —when she sees Ben jerk forward, like he's suddenly decided to get involved in this situation. For a second— _one split fucking second_ —she gets that shiver again, because he _could_ just lower his huge freaking body down onto the bed.

Yes. He could do that.

She sucks in a breath. 

He could lower himself down—slowly—onto the less occupied part, where it's just Rey—tethered to the bedpost—and Poe's distracted other hand, doing its best.

But he doesn’t.

Rey watches him walk— _saunter,_ really—over to Bazine's side of the side of the bed and all but shove Poe over, like a territorial lion. 

"Stick to the fucking script," he growls, easing himself down over Baz as Poe immediately scrambles closer to Rey. She has to hand it to Poe: he moves fast and he's willing to do pretty much anything. 

Including Slide One. 

_This is fine_. They've done this probably a dozen times and it's always been great. _Fun_. Well, somewhere in between great and perfectly adequate. 

Rey smiles at Poe because she's a Trooper and he's a Good Guy and he's doing his best to make her feel special with _both_ hands this time. 

It feels good. There’s a bit of relief. In fact, his hands seem to be about the size of Baz's, so his fingers are super comfortable inside her. It's fantastic. 

So fantastic that she doesn't _at all_ feel the urge to glance over her right shoulder. _Occasionally_. Despite the fact that Ben has his head buried in Bazine's pussy and her beautifully manicured, dark blue nails are raking through that stupid freshly washed hair and he's really fucking going for it, even though it's hard to see over Baz's left thigh. 

Yes, none of that is of interest because all Rey wants to do is look at Poe as he wriggles his fingers in search of her g-spot. _Definitely_.

"So good, baby," Rey whispers to him, reassuringly, before stealing another peek or two over at Bazine, who seems to be having a slightly more exciting time— 

"Ahhh, aaahhhhHHHHH, FUCK! Oh God! OH GOD I'M GONNA COME!"

_Already?_

Rey can’t stop herself from turning her entire body to the right to watch as Baz cries out, arching her back and pulling hard at Ben's hair. 

The sound she makes—probably the vocal equivalent of a particularly violent keyboard smash—lasts _awhile_. 

_Holy fucking shit, what did he_ do _to her?_

Rey feels herself breathing hard. Apparently Poe thinks it's from his efforts because he picks up speed and there's just no way she can focus on this and she really, _really_ doesn't want to try and fake something after whatever the hell Bazine just did. 

So she calls an audible. 

"Poe? Can I suck your cock?" 

It _will_ work because no man has _ever_ said no to that question. And she definitely has Ben’s attention now. 

Better to show off her own skills than to have that asshole condescendingly watch her _not_ come. 

It takes some maneuvering with the hand cuffs and scarf and the fucking bra, but Poe's balance is good enough to stand on the mattress in front of her (possibly his most impressive feat of the night), so Rey gets on her knees and performs a high-difficulty-level "hands-free blow job.” 

Because, _goddammit_ , she has something to prove to Ben fucking Solo and this is—apparently—how she's going to do it. 

He thinks he's so great at oral? He knows fuck all about it. Speed is _not_ a virtue.

For all Poe talks about his _endowment_ (he literally _does_ refer to it as his “endowment”), it’s about...average? And Rey reminds herself that that’s _great_ because it makes blowing him that much easier. _Win-win_. She can take him in her mouth in long, deep strokes, every so often glancing over to make sure that Ben is watching. And Baz. Of _course_ Baz, who still appears to be in some post-orgasm haze, but she's looking too, lazily running her fingers along Ben's cock. 

Rey smiles up at Poe when she pulls back. Rey chokes slightly when she deepthroats him. Rey hums and moans loudly enough for her audience to hear. Rey stops blinking so that her eyes water a little bit and her mascara starts to run.

It’s like a perfectly choreographed greatest hits compilation of a mainstream porn-style blow job. No cliche left behind.

But there’s one variable she’s never dealt with—loose hair. She almost always wears it up—usually in three buns—and there’s no graceful way to dislodge a lock of hair from one’s mouth without hands. 

"Ben, hold her hair back," Baz says, from where she’s languidly watching.

It’s an oddly subservient request to make of Ben, but maybe Baz is too comfortable to expend the effort to get up and do it herself. Rey feels the mattress dip as Ben moves alongside her, a bit taller than her on his knees, but not quite brushing against her. 

She steels herself as he gathers up her hair—with a surprising gentleness—and holds it in a ponytail, twisting it slightly. 

Focus. _Focus. Don't worry about the fact that he's watching this from less than a foot away. You’re damn good at this. He could have this, if he wasn’t such a fucking arrogant bastard._

So Poe and his perfectly nice, normally-sized cock can reap the benefits, instead. Rey swirls her tongue over the head, flicking it along the underside, before wrapping her lips around the very acceptable circumference, when she feels a slight push at the back of her head, forcing Poe’s dick further into her mouth. 

_The hell?_

"Nod if that's okay," says a deep voice that is definitely not coming from Poe Dameron.

_Oh God. Oh God. Okayyesveryokayokayokayokay._

She nods, as vigorously as she can with her mouth full. 

Relatively full. 

It _could_ be fuller. 

Ben pushes again at the back of her scalp until she has Poe nearly all the way to the back of her throat, pausing just before her lips meet his groin and her heart races. 

_Fuck, why is this such a turn-on?_

"Come on,” the deep voice taunts, just an inch or two from her ear. “Can't you take him all the way?” Rey hears herself make a little whimpering noise. Maybe Poe is making some similar noises, but she wouldn’t know. There’s only one other voice she can hear. “I think you can.” _Fuck yes, I_ can _, you conceited asshole_. “Show me you can take it.” _You conceited asshole who I really need to fucking touch me right now_. “I'm counting on it. Fucking show me." 

_What._

_Whatdoesthatmean? I’m counting on it? WhatdoesTHATMEAN?_

There’s only one way to find out. 

Rey relaxes her throat and moves her head forward can little half and inch until her nose hits Poe's skin and she feels a groan rumble through his body. 

"So you _can_ be a good girl.” _Fucking condescending edgelord prick_. “You know how to follow instructions after all.” _Fucking condescending edgelord prick who needs to give me another instruction_ right now _._

She feels his hand twist and pull at her hair, yanking her back slightly and then pushing forward, fucking her face onto Poe's cock over and over. 

It's both infuriating but also fucking hot and she just _needs_ to feel his hands anywhere else on her body right now because she feels Poe getting really close.

There’s a sharp tug. He’s pulling her hair back— _hard_ —until she falls backward onto her butt, panting. 

"We can't have him come yet, we haven't even gotten to Slide Two.” 

“Do you think she earned her special request, Ben?” Baz asks, sitting up on her elbow. 

God, in all the, um, _excitement_ , Rey had nearly forgotten about Baz, still lounging in her endorphin-induced stupor.

”It’s up to you,” he answers, squeezing Bazine’s hip as he slides off her side of the bed and stands up. “Whatever you want.” 

”You’re the queen,” adds Poe, breathlessly.

”I want it. We deserve it.”

Baz reaches for Rey and her soft, moisturized hands feel warm and comforting, even if they’re not quite addressing a very real _need_. Rey leans against her as much as the limited amount of slack on the stupid scarf will allow. 

Ben walks—or is he sauntering again?—to the other side of the bed, a few feet from Rey, while Poe enthusiastically jumps down from the mattress, holding his own dick—ready and eager, as always, to be part of the action. Any action. 

Like a caffeinated puppy. 

There's a moment of tension as the two men face each other. It’s like a standoff between two cowboys and no one in the room can guess who is about to do what. Rey isn’t sure actually sure what scenario she’s hoping for, but she is definitely holding her breath again. 

Ben looks down at Poe with a stern expression. A few beads of sweat run down Poe’s temple and he’s still breathing hard from the events of the last few minutes. 

You could hear a pin drop over the low-volume “Mellow Moods” Spotify playlist playing softly over Ben’s bluetooth speaker.

No words are exchanged as Poe finally kneels to the ground, in front of Ben, and Rey feels her stomach tighten. _A lot_. Baz digs her “midnight sky” nails into Rey’s forearm. 

It makes sense. Poe _does_ seem to want to be everywhere and Ben really just wants to be in control all the time. But there’s still something slightly shocking about the way he takes the tip of Ben’s cock into his mouth as he works his fingers around the base. ( _He has the use of his damn hands_ , Rey notes, bitterly.)

She’s seen a few M/M videos before, same as anyone. But, like—not _in person_. Not five feet away from her. Not with the good-natured guy she’s been fucking around with for a week and the very bad-tempered man she’s been— _okay, maybe she can admit it to herself, now_ —fantasizing about fucking for just as long.

Her face must resemble a real-life drool emoji. She doesn’t even bother trying to hide it, because Poe’s certainly not paying attention to her response. 

But then Ben tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling for a few seconds, and when he lowers it back down, he twists his neck and looks to his right. 

There is indisputable eye contact. 

And she’s positive her mouth is still hanging open. 

Wide open. 

Speaking of _wide_ , Rey watches Ben’s chest expand and contract. There’s almost a _sheen_ over his chest, as if he oiled himself up beforehand for the express purpose of emphasizing the contours of his pecs. He’s not making any noises, but he’s breathing hard and shifting and clenching his jaw. Poe bobs his head forward and back, working in tandem with his hands. 

She waits for him to maybe grab Poe’s head and get a little rough, in the same way he’d grabbed hers. But he doesn’t. He just runs his hand through his own hair a few times. 

_Fucking vain asshole_. 

_Fucking hot vain asshole_. 

It’s so fucking confusing. Does she want to be in Poe’s place or Ben’s? Or…added to the equation somehow? _If it weren’t for these damn restraints…_

God, she needs some relief. _Something_ to break the tension in her core. But when she tries to touch herself, there’s not enough slack from the fucking scarf and she squirms awkwardly in Bazine’s arms, squeezing her thighs together, trying to feel _any_ kind of friction.

 _What if he comes? What if he fucking comes from this?_ And then she’s torn between wanting desperately to watch that happen and the awful potential FOMO of not playing some kind of role in it.

As if he can hear Rey's concerns, Poe suddenly stops what he’s doing and rises to a standing position. He walks over to the bed and for a second it seems like he really _does_ want to be everywhere at once. 

“Suck on this,” he says to Baz, holding out his right index finger. Rey watches, wide-eyed, turning her head as Bazine takes the finger in her mouth and sucks for a good five seconds. “Thank you, my queen,” he says, and it’s just as grating this time as it was when they entered the room. 

Ben watches with his eyes narrowed. Poe gets back down on his knees in front of him, picking up exactly where he left off, but this time, his hand—with _that_ finger—roves around to Ben’s lower back. 

Rey is about to ask Bazine to just fucking _touch her already_ , whenshe loses the power of speech: because Poe is picking up speed with his mouth, while cupping Ben’s balls with his left hand and Rey is certain his right index finger is creeping steadily toward Ben’s—

There’s a gasp. It might have been Bazine. It might have been Rey. Hell, it might have been Ben. But, holy shit, she’s watching this happen while Baz squeezes her bicep, breathing hard. With a small wince, Ben takes the finger in his ass. 

It’s too much. _It’s too much._ How fucking _dare_ they do this? She has to get up—has to get off of this bed. It’s impossible to just watch this unfold like—

“Rey? Rey, touch me. Eat me out?” Rey doesn’t even _hear_ Baz until she repeats it maybe a third or fourth time. Her ears aren’t working right. Because Ben has turned his head again and he’s looking right at her while Poe is doing his best impression of a human blow job tornado. 

She half-heartedly moves her hands toward Baz, but there’s not nearly enough slack to reach her. And she’s _definitely_ not turning her head away from whatever’s unfolding. 

“...can’t...” she mumbles. “You need to move over here…” Baz shifts position a bit, briefly blocking Rey’s view. The interruption only lasts a second or two, but it’s still exasperating.

Rey can’t fucking breathe, so there’s no way she can get it together enough to go down on Bazine right now. _Fuck_. She can’t even tear her eyes away for a half a second. 

“Rey!” Baz shouts, sounding a bit irritated now. “I want you to _touch me_.”

“I—gimme a second,” Rey manages to choke out, still locking eyes with Ben. 

Bazine lets out a frustrated sigh that sounds more like a _hrmph_. Rey doesn’t turn around. (How _could_ she? Jesus.) But she hears Baz’s bare feet padding across the dark wood floor around the bed. She should probably feel bad that she couldn’t come through for her, but... _fuck it_. Priorities. 

Apparently Bazine shares her fear of being left out of the scene, because she kneels down next to Poe. 

“He doesn’t like it this fast,” Baz says, in her tone that can sometimes veer into know-it-all territory. “Watch me do it.” She practically has to elbow Poe out of the way. 

Rey gets up on her knees, but she still can’t really see the detail in whatever’s happening. Because Ben fucking Solo, protege of Roland Perkins, slow-ass 5k jogger, wide boy, and entitled prick of the first order, is smirking at her while both Poe and Bazine fight over his cock. 

 

* * * *

 

There’s not a damn thing Rey can do about it. 

He has a brief idiotic moment of expecting her to rise from the bed, make her way over to where Bazine and Poe are kneeling, and knock them over like football dummies in order to take over. 

It’s almost disappointing when it doesn’t happen, until he remembers that she’s tethered to the bedpost and he’s the one who put her in handcuffs. 

_Something, something “the best laid plans.”_

And whatever Poe and Bazine are doing is enjoyable enough. 

_It’s fine._

It’s not unpleasant. 

But the visual of the two people kneeling at his feet is hotter than any of the actual action. Because when Poe gets distracted (which is often), he gets sloppy—and not in the good way. 

And Bazine, who’s a pro at being pampered, hasn’t traditionally been great at lavishing attention on another person—which is exactly why he’d created a thoughtfully planned outline for the entire experience. The outline that went up in metaphorical flames ten minutes ago when Rey decided to improvise. 

Ben likes to be in control. He likes to _direct_. And it’s impossible to do that when there’s a girl in his bed who refuses to stay in her lane and two people who are knocking their foreheads together instead of cooperating. 

Ben palms the back of Bazine’s head, encouraging her move at the speed he needs. But goddamn Poe is all over her and she’s making a half-hearted effort, at best. It’s like fucking Goldilocks and the bears: one’s way too fast, the other’s incredibly slow. And there’s one more person in the room who he suspects might be just—

Maybe it’s the way she’s staring at him. 

Truthfully, the primary thing keeping him hard is that Rey has been observing this vignette unfold in the same way a cat might watch her owner slowly open a can of food. She’s not even trying to feign indifference as she repositions herself near the bedpost, allowing for the greatest amount of slack on Poe’s fucking stupid scarf so that she can touch herself. 

There’s no hint of pretense anymore. There’s not the slightest possibility that either one of them is looking anywhere else, or getting off to anything else—despite the fact that he has two people (theoretically, if ineffectually) mouthing at his cock. 

Naturally, the scarf and the bra obscure what would otherwise be a superb view of her desperately working her slender fingers against her clit. The handcuffs are certainly a hindrance. He can tell by the little crease forming between her brows that she’s frustrated with her lack of manual dexterity with the restraints. 

She hasn’t come yet. _Poe hadn’t made her come yet_. Not that he’s keeping score. But, really, she must be aching by this point. She needs it. That’s why her chest is heaving and she’s biting down on her bottom lip and squeezing her eyes shut, like she just needs to _concentrate_. 

Ben is so fucking preoccupied with her struggle to get off that he barely notices that neither Poe nor Bazine are purposely touching him, except when the sides of their heads accidentally brush against his groin. They’re making out with each other on the fucking floor, and he could have predicted this outcome, but he really doesn’t give a shit. 

They don’t notice when he backs a few inches away, or when he finally lets go of Bazine’s hair, or that he only has eyes for one person as he takes two lumbering steps forward to the side of the bed. Rey stares at him, wide eyed. 

He puts his hand to her shoulder blade, pushing firmly until she turns around so that she’s kneeling in front of the headboard, facing the bedpost. 

“This isn’t something we talked about—there’s still Slide Three,” she protests. 

“Forget Slide Three. And fuck Slide Four.” 

“—but—you hate me. I thought we weren’t going to—”

“Fuck the whole goddamn script.” He places a knee behind her on the mattress and lowers his mouth to the nape of her neck. “I don’t care if we hate each other.”

She gasps softly as he presses his lips against her skin and his other knee moves automatically onto the bed. 

“What about Baz? It’s not supposed to go this way.” Technically, she has a point, but her voice is faltering. 

“She’s occupied,” he whispers, running his hand up and around her side to one of her tits and tugging at the nipple until she makes a little gasping sound. 

_So this is what she sounds like when she’s not playacting_. 

“Well, _I_ care that I hate you. Did you know that you can’t run for shit?” It doesn’t escape his notice that she’s spreading her knees wider apart. “And you should really work on tightening up your obliques.”

No one ever says this shit to him. It’s not making him _less_ hard.

“Anything else?” he nudges his own knee in between her legs. 

“You need a pop of color for this room,” she chokes out. “I hate all this gray.”

“Maybe I could redecorate the place with your tacky-as-fuck underwear.”

“How dare you?” she hisses, as she tilts her head to give him better access to her neck. God, he feels so fucking hard right now. He could just take her from behind, just like this, and maybe—if Rey could manage to stay quiet—Bazine and Poe would never be the wiser. Only he doesn't trust her to be quiet. Not after last time. 

“Should I untie you?” he breathes into her ear, still rolling her nipple in between his fingers. 

She seems to consider it for a few moments, glancing back over to the right at Bazine and Poe.

“No.” 

“Are you trying to maintain plausible deniability?” he asks, mouthing behind her ear. “Or do you like looking at them while I touch you?”

“I—” He sucks at the soft skin where the side of her neck meets her shoulder. “No, it just—it feels good…when you...” 

She turns her head back to look at him and there’s a surprisingly hopeful expression on her face like she wants... _a kiss_? Like a real fucking kiss on the mouth.

He hasn’t done _that_ in a long time. Really kissed someone. He barely makes out with Bazine. (When she’s not recording, Bazine calls kissing “messy and pointless.” Maybe she hasn’t revealed that opinion to Rey just yet.) 

But Rey’s lips are slightly parted in invitation and she looks so fucking pure and expectant and he can finally see exactly why Bazine is so protective and enamored of her. 

Ben isn’t thinking clearly as he lowers his head as she tilts hers to the right and flutters her eyelids closed and he can feel her breath against his mouth and almost— _almost_ —taste—

“ _What the fuck are you doing?_ ” 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm very sorry. I literally put my damn head in my hands after finishing this GARBAGE. 
> 
> Again, the disclaimer that this is a terrible example of: threesomes, foursomes, polyamory in general, consent, openness, plain-old politeness, and correctly putting on handcuffs. 
> 
> Bazine will have her say in the last chapter.


	4. Sticky Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we left off: even a PowerPoint deck couldn’t keep these four idiots on track with their Bazine-centric foursome. Just when it seemed like Rey was about to get some actual affection, some asshole cut the chapter off! 
> 
> This time: Reylo is bad at polyamory. That’s it. That’s the tweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is HINGE ART. I'm still in shock. Check out this [amazing sketch by @Leila_Princess](https://twitter.com/Leila__Princess/status/1141679072839446528?s=20). The details are *chef's kiss.* And @Nssanssa2 made this [awesomely NSFW piece](https://twitter.com/Nssanssa2/status/1143512161433608192?s=20) and I will never be over Ben running his hand through his hair. NAILED IT. Thank you both SO much.
> 
> Also -- I upped the chapter count by one because I'm quite obviously following the Five Act Dramatic Structure with this masterpiece. And also there's some Ao3 formatting that I'm still trying to figure out, so I'll save it for the next chapter.
> 
> As always, this fic is unbeta’ed and ridiculous.
> 
> Since we ended on a cliffhanger and it’s been, like, a month, I’ll include the last bit of Chapter 3. 
> 
> Warning: there is another NSFW sketch in this chapter.

_“How dare you?” she hisses, as she tilts her head to give him better access to her neck. God, he feels so fucking hard right now. He could just take her from behind, just like this, and maybe—if Rey could manage to stay quiet—Bazine and Poe would never be the wiser. Only he doesn't trust her to be quiet. Not after last time._

_“Should I untie you?” he breathes into her ear, still rolling her nipple in between his fingers._

_She seems to consider it for a few moments, glancing back over to the right at Bazine and Poe._

_“No.”_

_“Are you trying to maintain plausible deniability?” he asks, mouthing behind her ear. “Or do you like looking at them while I touch you?”_

_“I—” He sucks at the soft skin where the side of her neck meets her shoulder. “No, it just—it feels good…when you...”_

_She turns her head back to look at him and there’s a surprisingly hopeful expression on her face like she wants... _a kiss_? Like a real fucking kiss on the mouth._

_He hasn’t done _that_ in a long time. Really kissed someone. He barely makes out with Bazine. (When she’s not recording, Bazine calls kissing “messy and pointless.” Maybe she hasn’t revealed that opinion to Rey just yet.) _

_But Rey’s lips are slightly parted in invitation and she looks so fucking pure and expectant and he can finally see exactly why Bazine is so protective and enamored of her._

_Ben isn’t thinking clearly as he lowers his head as she tilts hers to the right and flutters her eyelids closed and he can feel her breath against his mouth and almost— _almost_ —taste—_

“ _What the fuck are you doing?_ ” 

 

 

* * * *

 

 

" _What the fuck are you doing?_ " Poe yells it like he's in the stands, shouting about a bad play in a professional soccer match. "So we _are_ swapping? Bazine, we're moving on to Slide Four, but we're switching partners." Rey hears his footsteps on the wooden floor, walking around the bed. “I know you’re not a team player, but you gotta keep everyone looped in, Solo.”

She exhales _,_ almost letting out a whimper for a kiss she didn't even know she wanted. 

Her eyes blink open just in time to see Ben move his head back, away from her, as if he's pulling himself back from the precipice of a terrible mistake. _So, the would-be kiss will remain just that. Great._ She’s used to waiting for things that never arrive. And the whole awkward incident ends not a moment too soon, because out of the corner of her eye, Rey can see Bazine getting up from her seated position on the floor. Maybe she hadn't noticed.

Not that there had been anything to see. Obviously. 

_It's nothing._ _Just a peculiar little moment_. _They’d gotten carried away_. The last thing the situation needs is an accidental show of physical affection muddling up—well, _whatever_ is happening.

_What_ is _happening?_ she wonders, as she plays back Poe's words. 

"Moving on." 

"Slide Four." 

"Switching partners." 

_Fuck_. _Fuck. Fuck._

She feels Ben's large left hand sliding off her breast. It had somehow provided more coverage than the cup of her actual bra. Now they're not even touching at all and for some dumb reason she's dying to turn around and analyze his body language. 

Poe immediately launches into directing mode, even though Slide Four was part of _Ben's_ "vision" for this foursome—a vision primarily concerned with keeping at least one other person in between Rey and him at all times. 

"It's actually called 'The Mirrored Spoon,' " Poe announces, eagerly positioning himself behind Baz. "The women lie down on their sides, facing each other and we're behind them. We're the bread. Like a sandwich." Which means Ben would be positioned… 

_Oh_. 

Rey hesitates for a moment, mentally calculating how to extricate herself from this mortifying situation without upsetting Baz, while Poe continues mansplaining the concept of a mirror (“It’s like poetry. It _rhymes_ ”). And also the concept of a sandwich. She could offer to get everyone bottles of water from the fridge. (Ben _has_ to be the kind of person who drinks bottled water at home, right?) She could fake a foot cramp. She could take a bathroom break and just never return. 

But it's hard to do that when you're tied to a bed.

"Come here," Baz says. Her voice feels a little bit comforting, and sleepy, and warm, so Rey simply follows the instruction, lying down on her right side, facing her, close enough to kiss. If Ben won't cooperate, she can just lie here and not worry about him anymore and why is she even still thinking about what he will or won't do and— 

_Ow._

No one had taken handcuffs and a scarf around the bedpost into account when they envisioned The Mirrored Spoon, because Rey's hands are still awkwardly tethered to the corner, over her head, and she can't actually reach out and touch Baz in any kind of meaningful way. 

So she tries to make up for it by lavishing extra passionate kisses on Bazine's face, neck, and chest and whispering praises and encouragement in her ear as Poe lines himself up behind her on the other side of the bed. 

She's certainly not overcompensating for any guilty feelings relating to someone with a name that rhymes with Sven Woe-lo. 

Rey can’t see it when Poe enters Baz, but she feels it: this odd second-hand tensing and relaxing. It’s familiar—like getting someone’s hand-me-downs. She’s done it all her life. Why should this be any different?

A piece of something is better than starving, after all.

Of course, it doesn’t help that Poe says, “Showtime!” as he jerks into her from behind. 

It’s so...bizarre watching other people fuck. The movements. The faces. The sounds. 

_Professionals deserve a lot of credit for making this look hot_ , she observes, when she suddenly remembers that Ben is supposed to do the same thing on their side of the bed. 

Because Slide Four is a goddamn “mirror.”

_What if he_ wants _to?_

She stills and considers the alternative:

_What if he_ doesn't _want to?_

The air conditioning chills her back as she tries to focus on Baz and her pleasure, ignoring a fleeting pang of jealousy at the way she's softly moaning into Rey's mouth. 

There's no way she can inconspicuously turn her head to see if Ben is...still on the bed? Still in the _room_? Rey just tells herself he isn't. Why would he stick around for this when he could just wait for another turn with Bazine?

_He doesn't want to fuck me_ , she decides, giving in to the nagging sting of rejection that has plagued her since childhood. Nothing sounds more appealing than pulling on a sweatshirt and gym shorts and fleeing this lavish apartment where she's everyone's second— _or third!_ —choice and she can't seem to do anything right. 

And she can’t even run away because she’s still tied up. _The fucking indignity._

Is it rude to say “red light” out loud and interrupt Baz? Would someone untie her? _Would she even stop?_

_Fuck it_. She's spiraling too fast to pretend this is okay.

“Re—"

There’s a warm palm touching her back, just between her shoulder blades.

At first, she assumes it's Poe, reaching around, trying to be everywhere at once. But she knows Poe's hands. And this? This is not one of his. 

This hand is, uh... _larger_.

And it's sliding between her right side and the mattress until it reappears just below her breast. A moment later there's hot, firm body pressed right up against her back. 

He's _holding_ her. 

This asshole is holding her tight against his chest and his left hand is moving between her thighs and she—

_Oh shit_. 

"You're fucking wet," Ben murmurs into her ear, as she spreads her legs enough for his fingers to rub tiny circles just shy of her clit. 

"Yeah. Yeahyeah," she mumbles, already grinding against his hand without a second thought. 

"Try to contain yourself a little bit," he says, his lips barely brushing the shell of her ear. She squirms, trying to force his fingers into exactly the right spot and barely containing a whimper. “I don’t want to upset Bazine and I know how...over the top you can be.”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes, but he has a point: it’ll be easier to get through this if she keeps the focus on Baz. "And don’t stop."

_Nothing suspicious about this at all._ Yep, that’s what she’s telling herself.

_Don’t pay attention to the way his cock is nudging your ass. It’s not important. Kiss Baz._ _Let her kiss you and cup your chin and tell you how good it feels_. _Her pleasure is your pleasure_ or whatever that one polyamory blog had said. 

Speaking of pleasure… _this_? Is good. It feels really, fucking good, just on the edge of manageable. _Slow breathes. Sloooow._

She _could_ come. But she doesn't _need_ to come. Better to hold out for Baz, let her have this. Let her come first. Rey even makes extended eye contact with Poe in a show of good foursome sportsmanship.

Maybe this _is_ functional group sex? _We're all a team here_. Some shit like that.

It's all very amiable and cooperative—right up until Ben slides a finger inside her and she feels herself shudder and draw back with a desperate, strangled sound. The noises Baz and Poe are making blur into something like elevator music at a downmarket department store—slightly too loud, a little obtrusive, and blandly generic. 

"What was that?" he asks softly. "Was that English?"

She closes her mouth into a tight line. It's hopeless to focus on the facade of foursome propriety while Ben and his abnormally large fingers flood her senses. She hadn't wanted him to actually be _good_ at it, let alone allow him to seize control of her body. It would be infuriating if he wasn't also hitting the goddamn spot. 

Like. Literally. 

_Fuck_. 

And there's nothing she can do except take it. 

Because, well...hands tied and all. 

Rey makes a valiant effort to be quiet at first, since her face is still mere inches from Baz and it seems rude to—actually, would this literally be considered _rubbing her face in it_?

"Mmm. I think—" his fingers stroke against her front wall and she feels her hips rocking against his hand "—yeah, you like this."

"Don't talk to me."

It's not like she wants this pretentious wannabe alpha male to think this is some kind of achievement, anyway. _Congratulations, dumbass, your hand works as a dildo! Well done!_

Keeping her lips together, she confines herself to polite, soft moans while his fingers nudge something wonderful inside her and she can't help but squeeze around them. It's hard to be quiet. She's never been great at tamping down on enthusiasm. It's always seems to be the thing that gets her partners excited. She's _good_ at that part. The screaming, the groaning, the wild abandon. So what if it's occasionally exaggerated? They never seem to catch on. Not Baz. Definitely not Poe.

Really, Ben is the only person who has ever suspected she hasn't been genuinely in the throes of some divine rapture.

The truth is that orgasms— _real ones_ —are usually difficult for her. There's something deeply uncomfortable in losing control in front of someone else. It's far more convenient to put on a show and let them believe they'd _done that_. 

So it's hard to hold it in, when—for once—there's something seriously amazing happening inside her body. She doesn't have to strain and reach for something just out of her grasp. His fingers are rubbing against this particular spot that Poe has never quite located and that's— _God, yes,_ it's sort of unreal. But there's also something in the way he's holding her tight to his chest; he probably doesn't even notice his hand practically cradling one of her breasts. Squeezing it. Rubbing roughly against her nipple. 

She does this kind of thing for Baz. Even for Poe. But it never seems to get reciprocated. She hadn’t even realized her nipples were all that sensitive.

"All this from one finger?" he whispers into the back of her neck. _One finger? One?! How is this one?_ "Let's see if you can—" _Fucking shit fucking sh—_ "Stop holding your breath."

Rey tries— _really tries_ —to breathe. To center her focus on Bazine. But Ben is slowly sliding two fingers inside her and maybe kind of scissoring them or something and no one has ever done it like this before—with _moves_ or techniques or whatever the hell this sorcery is—and she can't help squeezing her eyes shut. 

Baz usually uses a toy on her. (She'd once said that fingering isn't for women with beautiful nails, and her nails _are_ on point.) But she's trying to imagine going back to that now: just the two of them, sitting on the bed, Bazine letting Rey pick the vibrator. She really doesn't mind. Getting off with a toy is better than having to fake it with a tongue. 

But she also hadn't quite realized her body was capable of _this_. 

She should have felt trapped—with her hands still tethered above her head, starting to go numb—but somehow, the way he's handling her body, taking it over, bringing her _just_ up to the brink over and over again... Someone is finally at _her_ service, instead of the other way around.

"That's good. You're close aren't you?" _Is Baz hearing this?_ "Yeah, I can feel it. I can feel everything." Rey huffs out a resentful exhale that sounds far too much like a moan. 

"No. Just— _just—_ "

"Just what, _stop_?"

_No!_

"No, you don't want that," he says, like he'd just read her mind. "You want to come on my hand, don't you? You want to ruin my fucking sheets."

The sensible part of her brain screams to open her eyes and look at Bazine, say her name, offer some reassurance that it's all about her. Don't let Ben-fucking-Solo feel like the goddamn king of this whole encounter. But Rey can already feel her head turning to the left, looking over her shoulder, because she _has_ to see _him_. She has to know what's written on his face right now—if it's posturing or if he's feeling this...this _thing_ , too. 

The eye contact is a bad idea, she realizes, as soon as his gaze locks onto hers. His eyes are dark, his hair still shower-damp and a bit wild now, and they're both breathing in the same short, ragged cadence. He doesn’t really look cool and collected at all. She feels her mouth open; it's completely involuntary. Before she can remember to dial back the enthusiasm for Baz's sake, he finally taps the pads of his fingers hard against just the right spot. Rey hears herself yelling—like, actually _yelling_ , at full volume—something in the vein of, “uhhh, ahh-UHHHH, _I want you to fuck me!_ ” as he holds her tight to his chest through her climax.

When she comes down from the Ben-induced wave of euphoria, the mattress isn't bouncing. Poe is no longer jackhammering away. Bazine is still and quiet, just staring at Rey with a furrowed brow.

It's surprising how quickly an orgy can come to a screeching halt.

 

* * * *

 

"Stop," Bazine she says, after a beat, even though everything had already stopped ten seconds earlier. Her eyes are still slightly narrowed—something just short of _suspicious_. 

"What is it?" Poe asks, sliding gingerly off the bed, full erection in hand, like he's already prepared in case his services might be needed in another location. 

" _Are_ you going to fuck her?" She looks straight at Ben, the same sharp glint in her eye. It's definitely a suspicious look now. 

"I—"

His mind blanks. He's still breathing hard from making the girl fall to fucking pieces on his hand.

"I think," Bazine says, slowly and deliberately, "you should fuck her." 

Rey's breath catches so loud, even Poe glances at her. He can't help but take pride in the fact that he'd done more with two fingers than Poe had accomplished with his dick and both of his hands.

"What?" Ben asks as evenly as he can muster, deftly avoiding eye contact with Bazine. "Why wo—"

"No!" Rey exclaims, not-so-subtly sliding away from him. "I mean—at least let me go down on you, while he...uh..." she suggests quickly. "I want to go down you!"

Rey moves her bound hands like she wants to reach out and caress Bazine's perfectly camera-ready face. But there's not enough slack on the scarf-tether. 

"I would like to be part of—any of it," adds Poe.

"No." She pauses for a moment, eyes moving back and forth between Rey and Ben. "I want to _see them_ fuck each other." He doesn't feel good about that inflection. "I'm feeling really turned on by the idea," she adds. Possibly through gritted teeth. 

"Whatever you want, Baz," Poe interjects, even though no one else is speaking. "We'll make it happen. We can go through the rest of the slides, but swapped. I'll just call out the positions—"

"I need silence, I'm taking an inventory of my emotional landscape right now." She's quiet for about ten seconds, before cocking a single eye open. "My phone—my Mood Meter app. I need to log this." 

"Got it! I got it, babe!" Poe springs into action, bounding out of the room. 

"I think we should…" Ben begins, glancing at an uncharacteristically quiet Rey. He'd been looking to Bazine for some kind of permission, but he finds himself addressing the girl directly. "Do you want to be untied?" 

She stares back at him, strong-willed and unblinking. 

"I can handle it." 

Bold claim from a young woman who was unable to form coherent words a minute ago. 

He wonders if she wants to remain bound because of pride or so that she can use it as an excuse. _What could I do?_ she might exclaim in a few hours, when Bazine has finished processing the experience via Periscope. _I was tied up!_ He's _the one who_ _made the PowerPoint!_

_Better to remove this variable from the equation_ , he thinks, as he takes the initiative to undo the knotted linen. 

Ben can feel her trembling a little bit through the loosely woven fabrics while he clumsily pulls at the knot. His fingers aren't made for this kind of thing. 

"I told you, I'm _fine_ ," she hisses, watching him struggle. "Bazine, tell him I'm fine." 

Ironically, Rey would probably be the best person for the job, with her small fingertips working their way between the layers of fabric, pulled taut and tight against one another. Her hands aren't soft and manicured like Bazine's. She probably bites her nails.

And, _fuck_ , now all his wants is for those same fingers to slide down the surface of his chest, wrap around his cock, tangle in his hair. Maybe skim the surface of his face while she's gazing at his—

"Turn over," Bazine says, eyes aimed squarely at Rey, as Ben finally gives up on the knot. "On your back, not your side. I want you to look at each other." There's a strange quality to her voice, like she's asking a question to which the answer is plainly obvious. And she wants them to _know_ that she knows.

Rey inhales sharply before slowly ( _reluctantly?_ ) turning over, leaving them face to face. 

It's obviously not the first time he's seen her naked, but it's never happened with the knowledge that in three minutes, or one minute, or twelve seconds, they'll be— 

"Oh we’re doing Slide Three?” Poe asks, striding back into the room with what Ben swears is a skip in his step. “I had this idea in the kitchen—for the oral train. I was thinking that we could all wear blindfolds and then _guess_ who we’re going down on. " Ben's iPad is under his arm and he hands Bazine her phone. "Oh— _oh_ and Solo? I found a ruler in your junk drawer, if you’re up for another contest. So to speak."

"Aren't you tired, Poe?" Rey suggests, breaking the unflinching eye contact she'd been holding with Ben. "We don't need to do every single thing right now. I mean, we could just stop."

"Easy for you to say. I think everyone should have at least one solid orgasm before we call it a night. Actually Bazine should have at least three." 

The woman in question glances up from her phone.

Ben hasn't quite ascertained what Bazine's ploy is—beyond generating “sticky” content for the NetalHeads and Patreon subscribers to argue over. (Her most popular videos are the ones where she either cries or recounts bedroom disasters.) He is, however, certain of one thing: whatever happens in the next few minutes could blow up his relationship, Rey's relationship, and their already messy arrangement. And they should definitely put a stop to the whole thing immediately. 

Only...he doesn't want to stop. _At all_. Something about the girl makes him want to keep going at any and all costs.

It's not because of her body—even though he’s been staring since she turned over onto her back. It's something about this hungry look she's been giving him since he snapped the handcuffs around her wrists. Or the way she'd just unexpectedly melted into his arms a few minutes ago, almost relieved to be touched. It's this—this buzzing _thing_ he can physically _feel_ every time his hand grazes her skin. 

Maybe they're not so different. Maybe she's also unsatisfied in some way that she can't quite explain to other people. Maybe having half of Bazine isn't enough to sustain two relationships. 

Or. 

Maybe she's going through with this out of spite. 

_It’s possible_.

Rey watches him with that same enigmatic expression: lying on her back, her cuffed hands resting awkwardly over her head.

It'll be harder like this. Facing each other. Looking at her delicate hazel eyes and her slightly upturned nose. And her mouth. God, the things he could do with that fucking mouth. 

He leans down and reaches for the pillows behind Rey's head, fluffing them up. Ben wonders about the blood circulation in her hands. Is she losing the feeling? Getting pins and needles?

"Are you comfortable?" he asks, while Bazine is momentarily distracted by Poe drawing something on the iPad. 

Rey gives him a funny look. 

"Are _you_?"

He's about reply with a terse _I'm fine_ , but Ben finds himself shaking his head. He hasn't been _comfortable_ in years, truthfully.

"We don't have to go through with this," he utters, even as his brain screams to shut the fuck up. He grabs her hands, surprising himself with the gesture, and starts to massage the feeling back into them. "I mean, just because they're doing it, or Bazine said...well, doesn't mean that we have to—"

"You don't want to?" Rey asks, in a small voice. Does she sound relieved, or is it more like... _hurt_? He's always been fucking terrible at intuiting these things. 

"No!" He quickly lowers his voice. "No. I- I want—"

“Just throwing it out there," Poe says, flopping down on the bed, "if your hands are hurting, I’m more than willing to wear the handcuffs." 

“Don’t tempt me,” Ben mutters, while Poe thrusts the iPad in their faces. 

"So check this out: for Slide Five, am I right?" Rey flinches away from the screen. "I was gonna suggest Eiffel Towering, because it's been on my fuckit list, but I just realized that it only works with _one_ woman. So we can save that for the end. Unless you want to skip there right now, Ben. Let Rey sit this one ou—?"

"No!" Ben yells before Poe can enunciate the _t_. "I mean—let's finish what we started."

"Okay, but Rey already 'finished,' " Poe says, climbing over Bazine. "Now we need to make _you_ scream like that." 

_Is he referring to Bazine or to me?_ Ben wonders. 

Either way, he suddenly feels a strong urge to make _Rey_ scream like that. Again. 

“You can let go of my hands now,” she whispers, yanking her wrists out of his grip as best she can. "Let's just get through this."

"I'll try to be as perfunctory as possible,” Ben says, once he’s sure that Bazine is no longer watching them with interest. Poe’s overwhelming enthusiasm provides at least a modicum of distraction and, therefore, privacy. “Just fulfilling the request.”

“Yeah. It’s what Baz wants.” Her tone is careful. “So I guess we have no choice.”

“Right,” he agrees, reaching over to the open drawer of his nightstand and grabbing one of the "just in case" condoms he’d left in there this morning. "Technically, it was _your_ request."

A tiny crease appears above her nose, but she doesn't argue the point. 

The thoughtfully prepared presentation deck is a million miles away right now, as he tears open the foil packet with a dexterity he's never managed in his entire life. There's a clear incentive, now—something to prove. 

He’s not sure who’s respect he’s trying to win—Rey's, Bazine's, or his own—but it doesn’t matter because he’s fucking harder than he’s been all day and ready to crawl out of his skin from needing this. 

There's something in the way Rey raises her eyebrows when he carelessly tosses the wrapper aside (he's convinced it bounces off Poe's back), or how she watches him roll the condom on, with eyes wide as saucers. Or perhaps it's when she slowly opens her legs in invitation, her chest heaving a little bit with every breath. 

Nudging her thighs open wider, he kneels between them, taking a moment to pause. Isn’t Bazine always encouraging him to _relish the now_ , or something?

(Granted, it would feel more profound if Poe wasn’t overzealously _relish_ ing _the now_ into Bazine one foot away from him, but, _fuck it_ , he'll take what he's given.)

And right now, there's nothing he wants more than to lower his head all the way down and just taste her. _Fuck Slide Three_. He can almost feel Rey's strong, muscular legs—how did he consider her “scrawny” just last week?—close around his ears until they muffle the sound of Poe's grunting. It would be their own private world for little awhile. He could make her come like that, his fingers bruising her hips, his tongue nudging her clit until she loses her goddamn mind. He could make her scr— 

_"Uhh...uhhhh….UHHHH! God, Bazine..."_

_"Ow! Slow down, Jesus. It's like a jackhammer!"_

Ben slowly turns his head to the left, toward the unwelcome interruption, death glare on his face. Not that either of them notice. 

As long as Bazine is otherwise engaged, it’s _almost_ like he and Rey are alone together, in their own room. 

Or, at least, in their own _bed_. 

But, somehow, Poe's noises are already getting faster, which puts a countdown clock on the whole thing. Soon, he and Bazine will be looking to swap back. 

Only...Ben doesn't want to swap back. He has a new mission now. 

He sucks in a breath and lowers his torso, hovering over her, placing his hands on either side of her chest, as if to shield her from the activity on the other side of the mattress. Her taut, rose-colored nipples are just begging to be tortured in the best possible way. He imagines his mouth on her, rolling his tongue around one, grazing his teeth across it, while she arches her back, giving him more, wanting him everywhere. 

But that kind of quiet intimacy isn’t exactly the point of this. _Come to think of it—what_ is _the point of this?_

_"Are you two just gonna stare at each other, or what?"_ Poe throws his head back. _"Come on, this is supposed to be symmetrical!"_

 

* * * *

 

Something swoops low in her belly and she's not sure if it's true unease or just a frisson of nervous excitement. Anticipation? _Longing?_

_No_. No no no no no. Not happening. 

Hadn't they _just_ escaped a scolding from Baz? Isn't she glancing over every few seconds, somehow multitasking while Poe pumps away on top of her, drops of sweat running off his forehead? 

No. Rey knows she has to stay in control this time. 

Bazine always talks about Ben as some kind of master negotiator, but his face is so... _expressive_ now. So different from last time. He's almost...transfixed.

He's looking at her like whatever is about to happen will be anything but "perfunctory." Like he wants to supplement everything he just accomplished with his hands by adding his tongue to the mix. Like he wants to bury his face in her pussy while she tugs at the restraints, helpless and needy on the bed above him. 

Maybe he wants to show off for Bazine. 

_He might use me like a demonstration model._ Like a warm up. Is he capable of that? He could make her lose all fucking control and then turn to his left and do the same thing to Baz. He could finish with her and leave Rey tied up, waiting for Poe to cut his own scarf in half so she can finally make her exit with zero dignity intact.

_Fuck that_. 

Whatever his plan, Rey is certain of one thing: she absolutely will not come again. She won't moan. She won't scream his name. 

There's no way in hell she's giving him that satisfaction. 

She’s come once. That can be enough. 

Even though he's tearing open the little foil packet like a bomb will go off if he doesn't emancipate the condom from its wrapper in two seconds. Even though she's positive she's gawking while he rolls it over his, _uh_ , massive erection that is somehow supposed to fit inside her average-sized body. Even though he's not even trying to hide the way his eyes are roving across her breasts, like he's tempted to just dip his head a little bit lower. Just an inch or two. 

She has a plan, too. She will merely _put up with_ this man sliding his giant cock inside her and making her feel more full than she ever thought possible. 

_And he’s going to come first._

 

* * * *

 

_"Can you just like—to the left? Poe? Hey!"_

_"Uhhh, uhnnhhh, fuck, fuuuck, Bazine I—"_

Ben's face is dangerously close to Rey’s. 

Her lips part. _Maybe_...

"What should I do with my hands?" she asks, pulling the scarf taut, trying to find the position that feels least awkward. "Like, up or…?"

"They're, uh, fine right here," he says, as she rests them on the pillow over her head. “Are you ready to—can I—?”

_"I said to the_ LEFT _, Poe!"_

_"Here we go, here we goooo—"_

Rey bites her lip and nods twice, her eyes scanning his face and then roaming down Ben's body. 

She keeps doing that. It’s like she can’t help herself. 

_Good_. 

With a loud exhale, he guides himself inside her with his right hand. He’s pleased to feel that she's still wet enough to coat his fingers. Her eyes are wide open and she's still biting her lower lip and he can't look anywhere but her flushed face as he pushes all the way inside her. For a second, he wonders if she'll change her mind and ask him to stop, but she doesn't. 

"Keep going?" he asks, because the bridge of her nose is a bit scrunched up and it’s hard to tell if because it’s too much in a bad way or a fun way.

"Fu-uuuck." It's all she says, under her breath. 

A _yes_ , then. 

He remains still, feeling how fucking tight she is around him, staring down to where they're joined like he's mesmerized by it. 

_"Just, just touch my—no, not there. Jesus, Poe, it's like you have fucking tentacles!"_

_"I'll take that as a—uhh, ahhhh—a compliment."_

Except they can't be still because the mattress rocks at an annoyingly fast rate, shaking everything lightly, like a vibrating bed at a cheap motel. 

Ben squeezes his eyes shut. For a moment, he imagines himself opening them and finding Rey beneath him, in bed, with no extraneous rocking or diagrams or time limits or handcuffs. The circumstances would be normal. Just two people who want—no, _need_ —to taste, suck, lick, touch each other everywhere. Well, he's sure she _would_ touch him if she had the full use of her hands. 

"Ben?" she asks softly. _Surprisingly_ softly. 

Blinking his eyes open, he sees that nothing in the room has disappeared, but Rey is still there, at the center of his tunnel vision, looking determined and a touch anxious. And also just... _pretty_. 

He nods, almost gravely, and runs his hand down her leg, gently bending her knee and drawing it up to his chest.

She's more than pretty; she's fucking gorgeous—and not just because she's already taking him like a fucking champ. 

She follows his lead, hugging her calves tight against him, almost squeezing his sides, urging him on, dragging him deeper. He pulls out an inch or two before sinking into her again, with a long exhale. She whimpers.

_Stay in control_. _Don’t get rattled_. 

But _._

It's hard to stop. He needs more. 

_She's so—_

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckingshit._

_SLOW DOWN_. _Slow and steady rhythm or you'll come too fast._

Except...

She's too fucking tight.Almost too tight for him to move, but somehow it's still happening and sex with Bazine is great, but, _holy shit_ , this is so different. Where he'd usually be planning his next move—maybe a position switch or some well-timed dirty talk—he's tearing up the very idea of a strategy, finding himself moving in response to Rey: the way her hips are rolling beneath him, how she's squeezing around his cock, pulling on the restraints. It's almost like she's trying to reach out and—

_"Use your_ hands _, Poe, can you—just—right there—"_

_"Yes, my queen!"_

His primary instinct is to throw something more substantial than a condom wrapper at Poe's head, but there's a distraction in the form of this blissful expression that passes across Rey's face. It’s like she's able to block out the overly industrious shaking of the mattress and the noisy bickering. And there's _only_ the way he’s making her feel. Nothing else.

Ben has never considered himself much of a giver. But he's giving her this. 

(Okay, technically, he's giving her his penis, but _there has to be more to it than that_ , he reasons.) 

He lowers himself down onto his elbows, letting her nipples graze his chest. Their faces are even closer now—within inches of each other. There’s absolutely no need for them to be this intimate. None. Zero. 

He braces himself for her to snap, to tell him to stop gripping her thigh like that. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead she rocks her hips against each thrust, using her bound arms to create more leverage. Like she genuinely wants him to give her _more_. 

“Harder?” he grunts. 

“Harder.” It’s unclear if it’s a challenge or a demand borne of desperation. Or maybe it's just begging. “Fuck me harder,” she whispers, through ragged breaths. 

He can no longer hear Baz's voice, giving Poe specific, actionable feedback. The only things he's aware of are Rey's hushed little sighs when she breathes out, just louder than a whisper, over Poe's dirty talk.

She’s not, er, _vocalizing_ the same way she had with Bazine. But when she draws her eyes down to meet his gaze, there’s an almost stunned expression playing out across her face. 

 

* * * *

 

God, he’s big. _So_ big. 

No wonder Baz has been hitting this for over a year.

She’s not sure what compels to ask for _more_ , but it feels almost dangerous—coming right up to the edge of what she can take. 

Not that he needs to know that. 

But something inside her feels strong like this—like she _can_ take anything he can throw at her— _er_ , _pound into her?_ Like she _wants_ to stretch around him and get pinned down by the shoulders, or have him press his hand into the lowest part of her belly, making her feel every drag of his cock that much more.

She imagines herself on top, riding him, bouncing on his massive length, while he stares up in appreciation. And _awe._

In what universe had she thought coming once would be enough?

How did she ever look at him and see an "odd-looking face?" Okay, so maybe it _is_ an unusual face—but in that way that makes you want to sit on it. Grind on it. 

She imagines herself doing that, too.

It’s like playing with fire, really. Because despite her best efforts, she’s coming close to the edge. But maybe he is, too. She knows she's pushing him, even without the use of her hands, and they're both barely managing to hold on. 

It doesn’t help that Baz and Poe are still going at it like rabbits. (Poe’s fuck-style is definitely more perspiration than inspiration.)

Only...she hasn’t been watching them. At all. 

Her eyes have been locked on Ben for the last...three minutes? Ten minutes?

He's moved close enough that she's even managed to brush her fingers over his chest, in an attempt to reach his shoulders. She needs him closer. Right now. 

And he’s touchingher now, too: running his hand along her rib cage, down her hip and then digging his fingers into her asscheek to hold her in place while he delivers on his promise of “harder.” 

_Is it possible to fake_ not _having an orgasm?_

Fuck. _Fuck._

God, he’s _big_. _So fucking big. So fucking..._

Rey feels herself slipping. 

And then—

_“Guys, let's do something else! Slide Five. Come on, Baz, get on your knees.”_

_"Now? I didn't come yet!"_

_"That's why I want to switch it up, babe!"_

The other side of the mattress stops bouncing and dips. 

_"Double Doggy. My diagram. Rey, get on your knees, too."_ Baz starts to roll over to face the center of the bed. _"This way, you can kiss. And we can even swap back."_

 

* * * *

 

He's barely conscious of Poe yelling something about his diagram. He can't even remember what it looked like. 

The restraints make her movements a bit clumsy, but she manages to run her hands across his collarbone, up his neck and over his face. His skin almost prickles under her fingertips; he feels his body unintentionally picking up the careful pace he'd set.

The cheap lace mesh of the bra—still tangled in the handcuffs—brushes against his own nipple. The friction there is... _new_. Frankly, Bazine rarely touches him like that—in those little ways. It must show on his face because Rey's eyebrows lift a little and moves her bound hands to tug at it again with her fingers. 

He finds himself nodding, moving so she can reach. _Yes. That. Again. Touch. Harder. Please._

She tugs at his hair as she lifts the handcuffs over his head so that her arms rest on his shoulders, like she's thrown her arms around his neck. Even though her turquoise bra catches on his nose for a moment, the whole gesture—just being pulled close like this—feels gratifying in a way he never realized he needed.

But he needs it now. He _needs_ it.

Things that had concerned him thirty seconds ago—like how little time they have before Bazine and Poe will finish—evaporate into nothing. 

Her heels dig into his back and she's meeting every one of his thrusts like her sole mission in life is to fuck his brains out. Like she's the exact Tetris brick he needs to clear the board. And she fits so perfectly inside— _or wait, maybe_ he's _the brick in this scenario?_

_"Now? I didn't come yet!"_

Ben hears the sound of adults talking in the _Peanuts_ universe until the phrase _"we can even swap back."_

Had Rey not managed to get her bound hands around his neck, he might be able to turn his head or reach out his left arm and smack Poe in the face. 

But instead, he decides to ignore every single thing that's happening on that side of the bed, including the way Bazine is now on her knees and facing them.

_"Rey? Hel-LO? Rey!"_

Maybe she can read his mind because she's not fucking stopping either. 

She's pulling hard on the scarf— _damn, she's strong_. They're both getting louder now; there's no pretense of discretion anymore. He can hear his own voice, coarse and wild, mixing with Rey's full-throated moaning. It's not the same kind of over-the-top aural spectacle she'd put on last week. This time there isn't any colorful language—no fully-formed words, really—just this expression of raw, sexual energy. He knows it. He _knows it._

_"Baz, you_ did _say you wanted to watch him fuck her."_

Suddenly, there's an ear-splitting _ccrracckk_ and the bed shudders and knocks against the wall. A piece of splintered teak clatters to the floor.

_She broke my bedpost._

He slows down for a moment, her newly untethered hands dropping down his back, the metal of the handcuffs and polyester lace of the bra scratching his skin. 

They stare at each other, breathing hard, the room otherwise silent. Ben brushes her hair out of her eyes with his right hand, cups her cheek, and looks in her eyes. He sees them fucking in a dozen different positions, in every room in his apartment, on public park benches or a family restroom at that movie theater with the reclining, reserved seats. He sees her bent over his lap, his hand smacking her ass, while she counts out loud. He sees her on her knees, her hair in his fist, deep throating him—instead of Poe. He sees himself making her scream his name in the backseat of his Porsche 911, with two or three of his fingers inside her and his mouth around her clit, her running shoe knocking against the fogged up window glass. 

And he knows what he needs to do—what _they_ need to do. 

_"Are you happy now? I thought you were never going to stop. It's really ru—"_

A moment later, the headboard knocks violently against the wall and they’re fucking like they’re the only two people in world—and the world is also ending. 

Her head tilts to the side for a kiss, as if they've choreographed this whole thing, like they've rehearsed their parts separately for so long, and now it's all coming together. Yes— _coming together_. _Ha!_

_"Damn, this is pretty hot, you guys. Baz, are you seeing this? Can I get in there?"_

_"Will you two_ stop it _?!"_

Ben leans his head down as she cranes her neck upward and the next ten seconds play out in his mind before their lips even touch. It's so close. So, _so close._ Her legs are shaking in his hands.

"Ben, I'm gonna—huhhhh, huuuHHH, AHHHH. Ben, I'm gonna come so hard for you! I'm gonna— _I'm gonna—_ "

And that's the precise moment when Bazine takes a knee to the face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is real and you *can* find it at an orgy!
> 
> As always, my apologies for subjecting you to this trash. 
> 
> Again, the disclaimer that this is a terrible example of: threesomes, foursomes, polyamory in general, consent, openness, plain-old politeness, and correctly putting on handcuffs.


	5. It was never about the vitamins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bazine goes public. Rey goes into hiding. Ben ruminates. And Poe is just happy to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a helpful synopsis of the previous chapter, courtesy of [YTCShepard](https://twitter.com/YTCShepard/status/1195764909981798401): “Ben smooshed his bits against Rey’s. ‘That feels good!’ said Rey. ‘I’m so glad that feels good,’ said Ben. ‘Oh, can I have some bits?’ asked Poe. ‘My bits are not smooshed,’ pouted Bazine.”
> 
> PERFECTION!
> 
> Thanks for hanging in there NetalHeads! This took awhile, but the truth is, this has been a weirdly challenging fic to work on. 
> 
> And thank you to the people who weighed in on my "smut-free" draft of this chapter. I acknowledge that this is probably the wrong fic to experiment with the softer side of slipgoingunder. 
> 
> Again, a caution that there is a NSFW drawing near the end of the fic.
> 
>  
> 
> **Also, I'm using a workskin here, so please read in Ao3 with the author's style turned on!**

 

 

There's a version of the story where the heavy thump of a kneecap hitting the ridge of a perfectly contoured nose and a high cheekbone stops Ben cold. Where he immediately drops Rey's trembling legs, throws his arms around a shell-shocked Bazine, and whisks her off the bed to safety. 

The objective truth is that it takes him a few seconds to move. He'd registered the impact of the knee; there's no denying that. But when you've been working yourself up for— _God, how long have they been in here?_ —and finally, _finally_ you're on the precipice of not only your own enormous fucking release, but bringing this girl— _what is she to him, exactly?_ —to her second climax in about ten minutes, it's just…

It's not the easiest thing in the world to stop just shy of ecstasy.

Apparently it's not so easy for Rey to stop either, because there's a long, noticeable beat before she tears her eyes away from his. Even Poe looks slightly disappointed with the sudden halt, before springing into action.

"Babe! Babe, are you okay?" he cries, pulling Bazine back and cradling her head and torso like an infant.

“Oh God!" Rey gasps, as she tries to extricate her still-cuffed hands from around Ben's neck in order to sit upright. "God, I'm sorry." She's still panting. "I'm so—"

"M-my nose...Am I bleeding?" 

Ben is still attached to the girl in more ways than one. After a few more moments of fumbling, Rey manages to get her arms back over his head and he unceremoniously pulls out. 

Which is how Ben finds himself, kneeling, with a still-raging hard-on, in front of his (ostensible?) girlfriend, with _her_ girlfriend and her girlfriend's boyfriend tending to her nose. 

"Let me look, babe. Move your hand," Poe says, easing her fingers away from her head. "There's no blood. It's just a little red."

"Baz, it was an accident." Rey leans forward, like she might also try to provide some physical comfort, but she doesn't actually reach out her hands. "I didn't realize how close you were to—"

"I wasn't the one who was 'close.' You were supposed to be switching positions." Bazine looks up at Ben, holding her un-bloody nose again. "And partners."

"Let me get you an ice pack," Ben offers, without considering that his ability to walk to the kitchen might be encumbered by his massive erection. 

Poe notices. Of course he does. 

"I'll get it! I'll get the ice pack for you, babe." He's up before Ben has the chance to say anything. 

"Poe?" Bazine shouts after him. "Get me another La Croix!"

She pronounces it _le kwah_. 

"On it!" 

Ben, Rey, and Bazine (still clutching the left side of her face) sit on the bed in the world's most uncomfortable triangle. 

Rey takes a deep, reluctant breath in, like she's about to break the silence, but nothing comes out. 

Somehow, Bazine still manages to cut her off. "Things were said that I cannot unhear." 

"We were about to stop," Rey insists, weakly. "I really didn't see you there." 

"No. You weren't about to stop. You didn't see me. Either of you." Her uncovered eye flashes over to Ben. "I've always had a really forgiving heart. For me to get to where I am, I've required a lot of forgiveness myself." She looks down, as Poe's heavy footsteps come into earshot. "But it's really disgusting to manipulate—"

"Your ice pack and La Croix—"

"Okay, then let's talk about it." Rey says, as Bazine starts to stand, placing the ice pack against the left side of her nose. "All of us." She gestures with her still-cuffed hands.

That actually sounds like a terrible fucking idea to Ben, but he still can't think clearly enough to present an alternative. His mind is still swimming.

"I'm very _raw_." She takes a beat for a dramatic inhale, before flouncing down to retrieve her kimono from the tufted side chair. "Which makes this the perfect time to record a tearful I.G. story."

Ben breathes a sigh of relief at the thought of avoiding this awkward conversation. And then chokes on it. 

"Recording? _Now_?"

"I'm heart hurt. And I feel like breaking the walls down—" she slips into the kimono, the silk sliding gently over her curves "—with my audience. This has always been about me and them.” 

“You and _them_?” 

“And I'm going to let my emotions lead, because I'm a creative. Pain is pain. I need to feel it, express it, release it, and then set it down and move ahead."

"She's a spiritual gangster, Ben." Poe gestures at Bazine with the sweating can of carbonated, calorie-free water still in hand. "You know that."

"What I'm doing now is the expressing and releasing part," she adds.

"You're going to post about this?" Rey's voice quavers slightly from where she's kneeling on the bed. "Shouldn't _we_ discuss it? Please?" 

"Maybe _you two_ should discuss it." She ties the robe shut and turns on her heel, Poe following close behind with her pamplemousse La Croix and her iPhone 11 Pro Max. "You seem to enjoy doing things on your own," she adds, with a final, pointed look.

Three seconds later, Ben's office door slams. 

 

* * * *

 

 _“Hey guys, who is having a crappy day? Raise your hand."_

Through the cracked screen protector, a puffy-eyed Bazine timidly lifts up her palm with a forced smile. 

Rey lowers the freshly opened bag of coffee that she'd stuck her whole ass nose into, in an effort to wake the fuck up, and looks over Finn’s shoulder as he raises the volume on his Android phone. It had taken hours for them to pick the lock on those stupid handcuffs.

 _"I’m literally sitting here in my studio. Like, I can’t film. And this never happens to me. I’m just having one of those days, where it’s like...I feel smacked in the face. Except I actually_ was _smacked in the face today.”_ Rey sucks in a breath. _“And it wasn't just about the kneecap that almost took my head off. It was like...a sign. Telling me to wake up and realize what this person is.”_

“Oh God.” Rey feels the blood rush from her cheeks. “Oh God.”

Maybe she shouldn't have sprinted out of Ben's apartment—leaving behind her bra and underwear—while he was trying to get the condom off. Maybe she should have checked on Baz’s face. Maybe she should have asked Ben to unlock the handcuffs.

“What is it?” Finn turns up the volume to the max. 

“I think ‘this person’ is _me_.”

Maybe she should've said _anything_ to Ben before leaving the scene of the crime.

 _“So...I’m hopping on here to share with you guys. Like, me and you. At the end of the day, that’s all it’s ever been. Me and my audience. You guys matter so much to me and…"_ Bazine’s makeup-free face starts to crumple. _"I’m having a rough one. And I just felt like sharing that with you guys, so that you don’t get lost in this…land of escape. What’s real is what’s real. And you know what I always say, 'your vibe attracts your tribe.' "_

“What the hell is she talking about?” Finn asks, grabbing a Dorito with the hand that’s not holding the phone. 

“Shh!”

Maybe she should've gotten his number so she could… What? Not hear a word from a _third_ person today? He's probably cuddled up with Baz, laughing about this whole thing, watching her views and followers climb.

Not that Baz likes to cuddle.

 _"When you do so much for people in your life and they not only_ don’t _return the favor—”_

“Oh my God, I _return the favor_ every goddamn time we have a date.”

_“—but they just…don’t even see you, like, I get it, I’m just so upset and I feel really used. Welcome to show business.”_

Finn turns his head. “You’re in ‘show business?’ ”

Rey shrugs.

 _“Everybody uses who they need to use to get ahead, you know?”_ She wipes her eyes. _“This is real. I would cry to my girlfriends like this. And all of you out there…you’re my friends. You’ve helped me build this. This all started with a LiveJournal and a vision board and you've made it a reality. And I’m moving forward.”_

“Did she just dump you on Instagram?”

Rey leans closer to the screen.

 _“Yeah, so I’m having a bad day. Not good._ So _not good. So heart hurt. I’m sorry to those of you who think it’s cringe to cry on I.G.”_

“It is,” says Finn.

 _“I just feel like breaking the walls down, and just getting closer with you guys. So. That’s that. It's over. And I’m going to wash my face."_

The video cuts off abruptly, with Poe coming into the frame for a half second. 

“Well.” Finn puts the phone down and grabs three more Doritos. “I guess this explains all those irate comments from ‘BazineDisciple69’ and her friends on the swing set pull-up tutorial we did.” 

“I can’t bring myself to look at them.” Rey sinks into the chair next to him. “How bad is it?”

"I wouldn’t put them in the ‘pro’ column. One of them said you need 'a good slap.' People seem pretty worked up about you and someone named 'Kylo.' " 

 

* * * *

 

**Ben receiving a text from** Bazine Netal  
  
**Bazine:** I have some AMAZING news to share with you. ❤️  
  
I know you don’t monitor my stats, but babe: 45K NEW SUBS  
  
**Bazine:** Have you watched??  
  


Ben closes the window without answering. He was due at the gym twenty minutes ago, but he doesn’t bother texting his trainer to cancel. 

Outside the parking deck, the rain beats down on the pavement. It’s fucking weird to keep waiting for a message from someone who doesn’t even have your number. 

It’s not that he wants to watch The Video, but it feels dangerous not to have all the information. So he taps on the link.

“Forty-two fucking minutes long?” he says aloud to no one. “Shit.”

The rain continues its relentless assault on the street outside. Ben reclines the driver’s seat a few inches, settling in for what is sure to be the longest forty-two minutes of his life. 

 

* * * *

 

Bazine smooths the kimono over her freshly waxed thigh. Her leg is out of frame, but she might casually wrap her arms around her knees at some point. Who knows? It's a great visual representation of the vulnerability she's trying to project.

She's tested out a few looks in the last three hours (an Ulla Johnson dress, a casual Tibi merino rib sweater and jeans, a Citizens of Humanity jumpsuit), but ultimately it's more authentic to put the kimono back on, smudge her eyeliner, and let her lightly bruised nose say a thousand words. 

_I've never been so relatable_ , she reminds herself. She thinks of Jen Aniston navigating Justin Theroux's "mutual and lovingly made" decision to divorce her. And all the Best Actress winners—Reese Witherspoon, Hilary Swank… _is Natalie Portman still married?_ —who had to dump their ingrate husbands a year after their acceptance speeches. She thinks of Jen Garner, bravely walking her children to her car, Starbucks cup in hand, looking just the right amount of frazzled-yet-put-together, while just _happening_ to pass a photographer. 

_God grant me the strength of Anna Faris_ , she whispers quietly. 

Bazine breathes in for nine seconds and out for twelve, blinks her eyes open, and looks into the lens.

"Hey, you guys. Welcome to...today's video. Obviously you can tell from the title that this will be intense, different, and this isn't a video I _ever_ thought I would make. I'm still pretty raw right now. But after Hux's call out video, things got a little rough and wild. Some of you may have seen my Instagram story. And you know me. I _never_ jump straight to social. But I was so gutted by what transpired today. It was never specifically about vitamins; it was about being lied to." Bazine looks up and to the left, unblinking, letting her eyes well up a bit. She looks back to camera. "So let's talk about Kira. Let's talk about how access to my fame, my followers, and my boyfriend can change almost anyone."

 

* * * *

 

 _"I literally had enough respect for you, and love for you, and care for you to tell you go and get some help."_ Bazine's wet eyes stare into a place off camera, just to the left of what Rey assumes is a presentation deck with her talking points. _"Kira, I don't know if you're listening. But I need you to hear an absolute truth."_ She leans into the camera, a solitary tear rolling down her subtly highlighted cheekbone. _" 'She who is brave is free.' "_ She punctuates each syllable with a touch of gravitas. _"I read that on Blake Lively's blog."_

Three hours and twenty-three hundred lost subscribers later, Finn, Rose, and Rey are still sifting through the online chatter, looking for _any_ shred of positivity. 

The shred is that Bazine has gained several hundred thousand subscribers overnight.

There are a few contrarians. PewDiePie (ugh) argues that it's really nothing compared to Mitaka's Ebola scandal. And Rey gets interview requests from Buzzfeed, The Cut, and bizarrely, _The Atlantic_. ("I really thought they had better things to cover," says Finn, sadly.) But she's not interested in exposing herself any further. They watch in real-time as Bazine's subscriber and follower numbers climb higher. 

"You're losing a lot, but you’re also gaining?"

"Hate follows,” says Rose. 

She’s right. Rose is always right. 

 

* * * *

 

  
# general  
  


BazineDisciple69  
I’m giving her nothing but support in the comments section.  
Proud Bazmissive right here!  


* * *

Bae_Zeen  
If Bazine realizes that the dickscourse is centered around whether or not Poe and Kylo have banged prior to the orgy she’s gonna shank them both!   
  


* * *

BazineDisciple69  
This is an accurate statement.   
This dickscourse has nothing to do with facilitating her experiences and she won’t be happy about it.  


* * *

BazIsBae_1994  
I’m honestly livid.  
Just imagine how Bazine feels.  


* * *

sexpert27  
What about KIRA? Was Baz meeting HER needs? I do not stan a selfish lover.   
(Please don't throw rocks at me)   
#teamorgasmsforeveryonenotjustbazine   


* * *

Bae_Zeen   
I mean... Kylo drew up the diagrams.   
Not to mention he’s the one that made sure to leave her out the first time.  


* * *

KylosTits1024  
I’m sensing he sees the error of his ways  
  


* * *

BazineDisciple69  
Yes! They all know what they signed up for!   
To give BAZINE a good time!   
I support her in her plan to kick out all the dicks and decompress with Rey-only.  


* * *

Bazira_is_endgame  
Kylo, you couldn't even stick to you own G-D PowerPoint  
if I were Bazine I would be LIVID't  


* * *

BazineDisciple69  
I think her freak out is going to be very justified.   


* * *

sexpert27  
Tbh if I had Poe and Kylo fighting for my attention I’m not sure I’d remember my girlfriend’s needs either.  
I just felt so bad for her   


* * *

BazIsBae_1994  
Look, you’re at an orgy!   
you can’t just sit back and wait for someone’s head to fall in your lap.   
you gotta get out there, be proactive, and get the business you want!   


* * *

KylosTits1024  
She's tied to the bed!!!!  


* * *

sexpert27  
That's why I'm mad. They stole her power. And then neglected her needz.   


* * *

KylosTits1024  
Poor etiquette Bazine. Boooo!  


* * *

Bazira_is_endgame  
I think the handcuffs were Kylo’s idea too.  
I’m getting that you think the person responsible for Kira’s isolation and Poe should be kicked to the curb so that Kira and Bazine can live HEA, and honestly I agree.   


* * *

 

* * * *

 

_"...you were talking in detail about things you wanted my boyfriend to do to you. I've been texting him all day to apologize on your behalf."_

Ben rubs his forehead. 

_"I have a very huge_ why _. And I just had like,_ struggle, struggle, struggle, struggle _."_ Bazine makes a ladder-climbing gesture with her hands. _"And crippling depression. And anxiety, to the point where I couldn't leave the house."_

Ben doesn't remember Bazine _ever_ telling him any of this, but, admittedly, he tends to tune her out when she's not making a direct request of him. 

_"I'm in my thirties. And I'm in the prime of my sexuality. You are not. You don't get to make the rules in_ my _bedroom_. _"_ It wasn't her bedroom. _"Let me be clear about this, Kira. I don't want to be associated with you. And I need to say that very publicly so this chapter can—"_ she claps her hands together violently _"close. Thank you all for being present with me while I process this. You are my light. Nama-slay, bitches."_

With a shudder, Ben clicks the next link, bracing himself for some obnoxious combination of sound and graphics to take over his phone. For the second time this week, he’s in his car, late for his trainer. He'd intended to wait until he got home to watch this "analysis of the unfolding situation." 

Right. 

More like a YouTube bottom-feeder convinced that she's inventing a new form of investigative journalism by posting screenshots and inventing timelines. It's embarrassing enough that he even knows what drama channels _are_. 

There's silence and a dark screen with white lettering, soberly reading "Please do not send any hate to anyone mentioned in this series." Oh yes, that should do the trick. 

With all the seriousness of that woman who hosted _Serial_ , the sober voice of Kaydel Connix, proclaims:

_“Welcome to part six of our series. In a now-deleted tweet, sex and relationships influencer Armitage Hux wrote ‘There is a reason I banned ‘Kira’ from ever coming over to our home with SexQueenBazine. She is a danger to society and relationships. Everything Bazine said is one hundred percent true.”_

A graphic featuring @HuxArmie's tweet flashes on screen, as if his opinion is a critical data point. 

_"This whole thing has been a major hit to Kira, as her already low subscriber count has dropped drastically, along with her sponsorships._

_“How did we get to this point?"_ Kaydel asks, earnestly. _"Depending on the outlet that you’re going to, there are several narratives. We’ll try to boil everything down to the essential pieces. Bazine helped bring Kira up. She was promoting her to_ no _personal benefit, even to the point of developing a concept for a line of sexual health vitamins based on Kira’s diet regimen. A regimen that has since been revealed to be…Cheetos and orange Gatorade."_

Fuck, he'd warned Bazine those vitamins were a terrible idea.

_"The fourth man in this bizarre love rectangle, is self-described 'Sexual Enthusiast,' Poe Dameron. Not only did Dameron appear with Bazine in her call-out video, corroborating her version of the events, he's since posted his own series of Instagram stories and TikToks, under the name "The Very Affable Lothario," complete with links to his dating app profiles which reveal him to be 'extremely single and extremely looking.'_

_"So, it would appear that both Bazine and Poe have parted ways with the foursome, leaving only Kylo and Kira's statuses 'unknown.' "_ Ben rolls his eyes at the phone. _"Over the last year, Bazine has repeatedly stated that 'Kylo' doesn't engage with social media. Kira, for her part, has been stubbornly silent since Bazine posted the forty-two minute call out video yesterday._

_“My goal here isn’t to make or break anyone, it’s to try and explain this situation as thoroughly as possible and then hear from you — but first I want to share some thoughts, brought to you by Squarespace…whether you need a domain or a—"_

Ben quits out of the YouTube app. He has to hand it to Bazine. Roland Perkins would be fucking proud. 

 

**Ben receiving a text from** Bazine Netal  
  
**Bazine:** I’m officially named in the Digerati 2020 list on Quartz!  
  
Celebrate?   
  
Tuesday 10:15 PM  
Can I come over tonight? I’m in the mood for Kylo.   
  
Thursday 4:35 PM  
Okay, so maybe you’re removing yourself from the narrative of our personal relationship, but I already have offers from five new sponsors and there’s a ticking clock on all of these opportunities.   
  
Friday 8:10 AM  
Rey has already gotten more out of being with me than she ever could have on her own. And if she was smart, she’d play along.   
  
Saturday 7:23 PM  
Really, Ben?   
  


 

* * * *

 

Rey is reassembling the speed controller on a Bird Two when the jarring sound of knuckles rapping on the metal door cuts through the Le Tigre album that Rose has been blasting all evening. The soundtrack suits Rey just fine. The louder the music, the more space it takes up in her brain. And the last thing she needs right now is an unoccupied brain. 

No one—other than Rose, Rey, and Finn—ever actually comes into the makeshift repair shop. They work at night because the scooters need to be back out on the street by 7 am. Rey suspects that Rose's setup here might not be exactly legal, but it's also not really her concern. They've been making a healthy little income. And the mostly windowless garage almost feels like a cocoon. Or a bunker. 

Which is why the sharp knocking is certainly out of the ordinary for a Saturday, just before midnight. 

Rose snaps her head up toward the door and then to Rey. 

"Did you order burritos again?"

"No," Rey insists, wiping her hands on her dark, oversized t-shirt and grabbing an extra-long ratcheting box end wrench, just in case. The neighborhood isn't the best. And she _wishes_ she had enough spare cash to order burritos. 

Grabbing the door handle, she feels this sense of—what is it, a premonition? _hope_? wanting?—in her heart that's been pulsing and pinging for the last week. Thank God she'd never asked for his number. She doesn't need another way to be humiliated at this point. 

"What are you doing here?" she asks, swinging the door open, not giving Ben an extra beat to prepare himself. 

For a few seconds, he just stares. Then he moves his jaw around, like a sullen teenager trying to invent an excuse for skipping detention.

This is the confident, cocksure "master of dealmaking" that Baz had always bragged about? 

It's a dumb question, anyway. She has a pretty good idea why he's at her (well, Rose's) door. Baz supposedly dumped his ass, too. So now he’s circling around to his back up plan. Or one of them; maybe he’s already visited Poe. 

It's probably the physical equivalent of a "u up?" text.

"Can I talk to you?" Ben half-shouts over the music, which Rose has not turned down. "Just talk. Will you come outside for a minute?"

Rey runs a quick calculation in her head: will this cause long term pain or short term pain? _Yes_.

Will this make any aspect of her now-exploded personal life and career feel more manageable? _No_. 

It's like she can already see herself escaping from the end of this conversation blinking away the tears stinging her eyes. 

And still, she finds herself stepping out onto the stoop and pulling the door shut behind her, muffling the music into a quiet blur of guitars and incomprehensible lyrics. 

There's nowhere to sit—it's not like this empty industrial parking lot offers a picturesque bench under a streetlight, overlooking the riverfront—so Ben suggests his car. 

_Of course he wants to "talk" in his car_.

Rey gazes at the Porsche that represents approximately five years worth of scooter repair money, careful to moderate her expression into something disinterested. 

"Heated seats?" she asks, on behalf of her slightly aching back. (Rose's workbenches are the perfect height... _for Rose_.)

"Obviously." He presses his thumb into his keyfob and the car lights up and unlocks. 

Without looking at him—she _can't_ look at him right now—she walks toward the passenger side, throws open the door, and lets herself drop down into the black leather. If she could actually relax—maybe if Ben just stayed outside, letting her recline in this very ergonomic seat—this would be so comfortable. Like sitting on a cloud. 

He doesn't stay outside. 

The car dips and bounces a bit when he lowers himself into the driver's seat. Rey makes a concerted effort to look up at the dark sky through the moonroof...and _not_ at the way his body settles behind the wheel. 

"Well," she says, _not_ noticing the scent of his cologne as she continues to look up at the moon peeking out from behind a foreboding patch of clouds, "what more is there to talk about?"

" 'What more?' We've barely said two sentences to each other." 

"Yeah, well, we barely said two sentences to each other when we both dating the same woman, so there's really no need for us to say anything now that we're... _not_."

A strong wind kicks up, blowing some discarded trash across the concrete like tumbleweed. 

"I have this—” he stops himself and starts over. “I wanted to make sure that you're...okay." He pushes a button on the climate control system and the leather against her back immediately starts to warm. "Maybe I can help." 

Rey feels her nose crinkle up in disgust. 

"This is about _pity_?" 

"No. But you've taken the brunt of the criticism, even though it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s—"

"It's fine. I'm getting by."

"Fixing scooters in the middle of the night?"

"Repairing scooters is perfectly respectable work," she snaps, even though there’s something pleasurable in the insistent tone of his voice.

"It's not fair that Bazine pinned this on you.” 

“Nothing about my life has ever been 'fair.' 'Pain is pain,' right?”

“Do you have any training clients left?"

Rey inhales sharply. "No."

"Any sponsors?"

"No."

"Savings?"

"I bought a three month membership at a ninja gym a few weeks ago. Non-refundable. So, hey, I have unlmited access to the warped wall as soon as I get off work at seven in the morning."

"Have you thought about responding to Bazine's videos?" 

Suddenly the leather feels like it's burning her back. "Is _that_ why you're here?" She grabs for the door handle. "Did she ask you to—is this about the fucking _vitamins_?"

" _No_." He reaches out for something—her hand, maybe—but ends up brushing against her chest. "That's not why I'm here." He relaxes back into his seat, pulling his hand back. "But it might help keep your name in the public eye for the short term, if that's what you—"

"The public eye? Really? I’ve been dumped and trashed by both people I was dating. I've spent the last week reading about how fucking terrible I am. Do you have any idea how that feels? A mob of total strangers telling you to go fuck yourself on every single piece of content you've ever posted?" The mix of anger and adrenaline that she’s tried so hard to tamp down on over the last six days starts to course through her veins. "I thought it was so insane when Baz told me you weren't on social. But now I get it. If you don't put yourself out there, nobody can hate you." 

"Plenty of people hate me,” he says, quietly, after a long pause. “In real life. For reasons that have nothing to do with a foursome gone wrong."

Rey turns her head to the right and pretends to be fascinated by the passing tail lights speeding around the neighboring street corner. "I just want to be left alone."

"Do you?" She can hear him shift slightly in the seat, turning toward her. "Do you want to be alone?"

"I can look out for myself. This whole fucked up situation started when I let Baz help me. I relied on her. I opened up to her. And then Poe. It's not like me. I've hardly ever had attention from _one_ person. I guess there was something gratifying about getting it from both of them."

"What about me?"

She can't help turning to the left to face him.

"You?"

"I didn't come here to talk about Bazine or Poe or subscriber counts or fucking sexual health vitamins." He blows out a frustrated breath. "I need to talk about what happened. Between you and me."

"You mean the—" Rey makes some kind of abstract hand gesture to indicate _passionate sexual encounter with our other partners one foot away_. Hopefully he gets that.

"Yeah. That."

Rey’s heart thumps against her rib cage. She’d been doing so well, just shoving the whole incident to the back of her mind and throwing a blanket over it. Sure, sometimes unbidden memory fragments—the feel of Ben’s absurdly smooth chest against her back, the ache of her arms from the restraints, the slightly wild look in his eye when he—

 _Fuck_. Not this again. Not those unwelcome thoughts that just spring up out of nowhere. It’s ridiculous. She’d been playing her part in a foursome. It’s not about _him_. 

It’s really not. 

"I mean, Poe suggested we switch, right? The whole thing was basically an accident. Or a coincidence." Rey tries to ignore the way the light from the occasional passing car dances across his features. "The wrong people, pushed together at the right time." 

"So that's happened to you before? That's how you felt with Poe? Or Bazine? You screamed that loud with either of them? Without faking it?"

Oh, so it’s about his ego. Of course it is. 

"Look,” she spits, “I know you didn't like me from the moment we met. I don't know if it's a jealousy thing, or if you did this to other people that Baz dated, but...we just didn't really get off on the right foot. Start off, whatever." She sighs quietly. "I guess, technically, you did get off the first time."

"It’s not about jealousy. I never cared about Bazine's other partners. Until you."

Rey feels her stomach twist into a tight, confusing knot. This was supposed to be finished. 

Over.

Forget about the video editing and the promises of vitamin deals and brand trips that never materialized and Bazine's intriguing way of caring so much and so little at the same time. 

_Pick up the scraps and move on with whatever is left of your life_. Like always.

The last thing she needs is her ex's ex prowling for a quick hookup.

"I know things didn't work out with you and Baz, okay? I'm sorry that the whole thing blew up. I get that you're upset or lonely or reeling or whatever men do when relationships end. You're looking for a pick-me-up." And there's that familiar sting in her eyes. "But I'm tired of being runner up. I get it now. I was _never_ Bazine's priority. God, I think Poe didn't even see me as his first choice."

Rey blinks rapidly and looks up, trying to prevent any tears from welling up over her lower lids. It's humiliating enough to be cornered like this—trapped in a car and saying these things out loud.

"But I do." 

His voice is low and grave and rumbly and she can't quite bring herself to process the actual words, so she punts.

"You see me as Poe's first choice?"

"What?" He nearly does a double take. "No! Fuck Poe. I see you as—as mine."

Something in her chest feels like it leaps out of place at that word.

"Yours?"

He turns to the right, squaring himself to her and putting his hands just below her shoulders. 

"My first choice, Rey." The bare skin on her arms hums beneath the pads of his fingers "It wasn't an accident or a coincidence, or two wrong people. It was the right two people. We just didn't realize until we were put in a situation where—"

"An orgy?"

"An orgy is drunken, chaotic debauchery. This wasn't—" He sighs. " _Fine_. We realized it at an orgy. A small, tasteful orgy." 

"I didn't know it was possible to feel guilty about having sex at an orgy. Even if it was part of slide three. It was... _weird_ , right?"

"I never—I never felt... _pulled_ to someone like that before." He glances down at the empty console tray, which somehow doesn't contain any crumbs or a single gum wrapper. "It seemed like you felt it, too."

"I—I mean…" Rey watches his right hand fidget with the hem of his shirt. It's a beautiful, perfect hand. She's thought about that hand quite a lot. "I broke your bed." 

It sounds strange and kind of hot being spoken aloud—actually coming out of her mouth. Ben looks up at her with a glint of hope for the first time in the conversation.

"You broke my fucking bed."

Okay, so it sounds hot coming out of his mouth, too. 

_His mouth_. Is it okay, at this point, let herself think about his lips slowly making their way down from her chest to her stomach?

"I'm actually kind of proud of that," she admits. 

"Me, too."

Ben's breathing carries over the stillness. It's slightly heavier than it should be, considering that they're just sitting in a car.

"I guess I could've offered to pay for the damage, but I can't even afford my rent right now, so..."

"I don't plan on fixing it." Thank god the car's dome light is off, so he can't see the hot flush in her cheeks. "Have you been thinking about it?"

"Yes." There's no need to confirm that "it" refers to _the most intense sexual experience I've ever had_. She doesn't mention that her life has been such a fucking trainwreck over the last six days, that thinking about him—about the potent way he'd looked at her—is the only thing that's given her the slightest reprieve. "Have you?"

"Every fucking day." The way he says it without any hesitation makes the knot in her stomach pull tighter. 

"What do you think about?" She swallows. "Like, specifically?"

 

* * * *

 

What does he think about? 

Ben feels his jaw and mouth move again. It's the world's worst tell. 

Is it too much to say that since the cursed foursome, there hasn't really been an hour in the day when his mind hasn't drifted back to her? It's not a general sort of daydream, either. It's a pixel-perfect, audio-visual recounting of Rey lying beneath him, her chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid panting. Her brilliant hazel eyes meeting his gaze. Her arm muscles tensing and pulling on the restraints.

Feeding off his energy instead of antagonizing him.

Forging something together instead of swiping at each other like territorial animals.

Yeah, maybe that speech is what Bazine would call "extra." 

But her brow is slightly raised in expectation and the longer the silence lingers, the harder it is to start any non-creepy sentence that scratches the surface of the truth. 

Ben finds himself listing the first, unvetted memories that flit across his mind.

"I think about how strong you are—I knew you were a trainer, but…fuck, it felt like you could squeeze the life out of me with your thighs, which is—" he swallows hard "—it's just really fucking hot."

Her eyes widen and it feels a little bit easier to get the words out.

"I think about the fact that I didn't get to see it the first time. I was behind you. I couldn't see your face when you—"

There's a muted rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance, punctuating the moment with an excessive flourish. 

"Oh." Blood rushes to her cheeks; his blood rushes...somewhere else. "And then the thing with the knee."

"The knee," he repeats, almost mournfully. "It was like being robbed. You were—" his hand clenches into a tight fist in his lap "—God, you were right _there_."

"So were you!" A little burst of unmitigated excitement flickers across her face, before she clears her throat, as if to re-route the conversation back to safety.

"At least Poe didn't come, either.” She makes the quietest little snort of laughter. “Not for lack of trying.”

"Was it...kind of a disappointing foursome? Not that I actually know how foursomes are supposed to go." Rey picks at the peeling graphic on her oversized t-shirt. "I barely know how relationships are supposed to go." 

"I still want to see it." It's embarrassing how ragged his breathing has become in the last thirty seconds. "Your face, when you..."

It seems to take a full minute for her look up at him. 

"When I...what?"

It's a fucking travesty that she seems so skeptical about something as simple and obvious as being desired. 

"I want to see your face when you come on my mouth, or my hand, or my cock—whatever you want." Her eyes are as wide and hungry as they were six days ago. "Just you."

A fat drop of rain hits the windshield.

Ben angles himself toward the passenger side and reaches for her top, which is two sizes too big for her, like she wants to hide underneath the men's extra-large Wrestlemania shirt that hangs over the waistband of her shorts.

"I should get back to the—" She watches his hand gather up the excess fabric in his fist, pulling the material taut against her back. "—the scooters." 

Raindrops start to spatter onto the windshield.

"Don’t leave right now." Ben pulls the hem upward, over her belly button as she arches her back against the seat, gripping the edges with her hands. "You'll get wet."

Rey makes a little noise, and he slowly pulls the shirt higher as the rain starts to drum louder against the windows. She's fidgeting a little bit, pushing her heels into the floor mat, squeezing her legs together. 

He lifts the fabric up, up, up— _there's no Poe to interject this time, it's a goddamn miracle_ —up to where he expects to see the bottom edge of her bra. 

There's nothing there. Only the underside of her breasts. 

No bra.

 _No bra_. 

It takes all his willpower not to rip the shirt over her head and expose her little tits to the warm, humid air in one fell swoop. She shuts her eyes, like she's expecting it, too. But he manages to stay in control, inching the dark cotton over them, a little bit at a time, past her nipples, just a few shades darker than the rest of her skin in the dim lighting. 

It's quiet enough now that he can just barely hear the fuzzy drone of Rose's music through the poorly insulated walls of the garage.

"I think about the sounds you made," he continues. "With me. Not for Poe. Not for Bazine." The rain picks up momentum against the windshield. "There was this edge to your voice, like you could just barely control it."

She parts her lips but doesn't say anything. Ben pulls the shirt up another inch. 

"I think about the way you tried to touch me. Your fingers running down my chest. And I know it's my fault that your hands were tied, and I guess my punishment is that I barely got to feel it."

Rey lifts her left hand from where it’s clamped down on around the edge of the leather seat. 

"Like…" She reaches over the console and rubs her index finger over the fabric that covers his nipple, until it stiffens. "Like this?”

It's embarrassing how that tiny bit of contact, even through a layer of brushed twill, sends a shiver down his spine. 

But the touch emboldens him. "I think about how you looked while your face was getting fucked. And how I wished it was my cock you were sucking like that."

He breathes out, relieved to have said it aloud.

"If I were sucking your cock—” her finger grazes lightly, creating just enough friction "—I wouldn't stop until you came down my throat."

He doesn't breathe. Or blink. The slightest _anything_ could break the spell. But Rey seemingly doesn't share that concern, because she squeezes his nipple between her thumb and forefinger, forcing Ben to stifle a groan.

"Fuck," he murmurs after a beat, casting his eyes up through the sunroof, where the rain is running in little rivulets. _Get a goddamn hold of yourself._

"So you _did_ want to be in position number one in Poe's Oral Train." There's a slyness to her tone, as she drops her hand from his chest. He allows himself to fully exhale.

"Actually, no." He points a finger at her. "Number one—" then he points back at himself "—and two. You need someone's undivided attention."

Ben pulls on the t-shirt again, yanking the already-stretched out neckline over her head.

"Maybe you do, too," she says breathlessly.

 

* * * *

 

Rey lets her eyes follow the path of his fingers slowly tracing over her collarbone, down her sternum, and over her belly, pausing to feel her stomach rising and falling with each breath. She watches as he moves his hand back up, his fingers finding their way over her left breast. 

When he grazes her nipple, already taut, she tips her chin up toward the roof of the car and makes a little keening sound, closing her eyes. 

How does something so minor feel like so _much_?

"Didn't Bazine touch you? Did Poe?"

Her eyelids flutter open. "Bazine really liked _me_ to go down on her. Poe was... _energetic_ ,” she says, diplomatically. “And fast. Very fast."

Ben places his other hand at the back of her head and angles her chin back down, so that she has no choice but to watch the way his fingers move deliberately over her skin.

“Nothing about this is going to be ‘fast.’ ”

The rain beats mercilessly on the windows. 

A subtle sensation—like tiny pin pricks tapping at her skin—climbs up the back of her neck when she thinks about being the center of his attention. 

“Ben—” Her fingers instinctively move to the buttons of his shirt.

“Get in the backseat.”

She hesitates for a second—just enough time to make sure he's not joking. Poe would be joking.

The look on his face—painted by the shadows and low lighting—says that he’s deadly serious.

Rey pushes her right foot against the floor and her left onto the perforated leather of the seat, angling herself back, toward the gap between the driver side and passenger side. Ben grabs her around the waist and lifts her over the center console. 

She lands clumsily in the tight, leather-upholstered confines of the rear bench seat, with Ben scrambling after her. There's no finesse to his movement; he gets his foot caught on just about every piece of protruding equipment—the gear shift, the steering wheel, the seat belt buckle—and his head smacks against the moonroof, where the rain is pounding on the glass. Somehow, he manages to force his entire body all the way to the backseat. 

“Put your back against the armrest,” he says, already pushing her down by the shoulders, so that she's reclining against what would be the right rear door, if this car actually had room for four doors. There's still barely space to extend her legs across the length of the seat. 

"You've done this before," she suggests, imagining him and Baz escaping a rain storm in his car on a weekend hiking trip. Not that she hikes. He probably doesn't either. 

"I've never been back here," he mumbles. "It's too fucking small for an adult."

Rey doesn't mention that _she_ had sat in the back of this car like an actual child, the first time they met and drove back to his apartment. 

_How the turntables_...

She watches him undo the button and zipper of her shorts, peeling them down, yanking them over her sneakers, leaving her underwear hanging around her left ankle. There’s nothing but the smooth grain of premium leather against her bare skin. 

Ben folds himself over her, as she makes another sloppy attempt at opening the small pearlescent buttons of his shirt. He doesn’t wait for her to finish undoing them, which is a bit disappointing, because, _God_ , she wants to feel his skin against hers. But she also can’t complain, as he lowers his head to the hollow of her throat, lavishing her with unhurried attention, mouthing over the soft swell of the underside of her breasts and her stiff, almost aching nipples. 

It's the kind of thing she would have done to Bazine, but had never asked for in return. For some reason, it simply hadn't occurred to her. Baz had called her boobs "super cute," which is, at least, a step better than the asshole who replied to her topless sext with the word "uninspiring" and a shrug emoji. 

So this is—well, it feels a bit like a special occasion. Who could have known that anyone sucking on her nipple would make her back arch right off the seat? 

But maybe not just _anyone_ could do that. 

Rey can't see the dashboard clock from this angle, or her secondhand FitBit, so she has no real clue how long he spends on what she had dismissively referred to as "top half," the first time they'd tried to share Bazine. 

Rey is happy to discover that there are actually _a lot_ of things one can do with a combination of hands, a mouth, and nipples. 

By the time he seems relatively sated and ready to move on, she's practically levitating off the seat in anticipation.

Ben lowers down to her stomach, making her abs clench from the way his nose tickles the skin around her belly button. His hands find the backs of her thighs, spreading them open on either side of his shoulders, and her heart feels like it's beating in five different places in her body. 

He lifts his head and looks down at her. It kind of reminds her of other people's families saying grace before a meal. 

Like he needs a fucking _moment_ before devouring her.

Or, maybe he's just trying to keep her in suspense, wanting it a tiny bit more.

It works. 

 

* * * *

 

Bazine tastes like the coconut and almond oil artisanal lubrication treatment she's been hawking to her followers for months. 

Rey doesn't. 

There are a lot of things that are different with Rey. 

She squirms. A lot. Like she's overwhelmed by a sensation she's not quite used to. And in the cramped back seat ( _so_ that's _why Jalopnik called it "horrific for any adult over 5'2"_ ), when her legs thrash around, he nearly gets pummeled. Apparently, the knee to Bazine's face wasn't a random sex casuality.

The rain pelts the exterior of the car, threatening to drown out some of the smaller sounds—like the squeak her skin makes against the aftermarket high performance distressed leather. Or the way the seat belt buckle makes a clicking noise every time her hip presses into it. 

Ever since an unfortunate incident with the Mugwort V-Steam, Bazine likes things hard and fast. He's gotten so used to tailoring what she calls his "oral choreography" to her particular preferences, that doing this for someone else is almost like creating a mixtape for a first date. Not that Rey would understand the significance of a mixtape.

So he starts with a broad sampling of the greatest hits. 

"Nice and slow," he says, and she answers with something that sounds like a cross between an _mmm hmmm_ and a moan. It's good enough for Ben. 

He has to take his time with this.

Even though she's probably missing out on thirty minutes worth of scooter-related earnings. Even though the tight quarters force him to practically curl up into a ball in order to fold his frame across the width of the car. If he didn't have the best distraction in the world literally _in his face_ , he wouldn't be able to endure the shooting pain in his back.

But fuck it. 

She deserves this from somebody, even if he probably doesn't deserve her. 

There are a lot of things he doesn't deserve: the way her stomach muscles contract and relax as she grinds against his face. The silky feel of the delicate skin around her inner thighs on his cheek. The little crinkle above her nose while she watches all of this, like she still doesn't quite believe it. 

The way Rey responds to even the slightest swipe of his tongue makes him want to fucking _live_ in this car. 

"God, I love the way you taste. You're so—"

Her hands flail wildly for something to hold onto. One eventually grabs a hold of the pocket in the back of the passenger seat and the other lands in his hair, which drives him even more out of his mind because now he can _feel_ how worked up she's getting. 

Ben grabs a firmer hold of her shaking thighs and eases her downward so that her spine is flat against the seat and her legs are in the air. Then he places his hands under her ass and lifts up until it's almost level with his face, leaving her resting on her elbows and shoulders.

It's not anything he'd normally try with a new partner, but given the paltry amount of available surface area, and the physical prowess he'd witnessed in Rey's parkour videos, he chances it. She hooks the backs of her knees on his shoulders and he can comfortably look down and see the face he'd once thought to be "nothing special at all." 

What an idiot. _What a goddamn blind idiot._

She's not squirming around anymore. There's a focus to the way her entire body writhes in direct response to his mouth, grinding on his tongue. And his nose. His whole face, really. 

"Tell me what feels good," he murmurs into her skin. "Anything you want." 

"Uhhhnnnmm," is the response he gets. 

"Faster, slower, harder, softer?" he asks, lifting his mouth off her body for a few seconds. 

"Yesssss." _Inhale-exhale-inhale_. "Ben. _Yes_." _Exhale-inhale-exhale_. "Don't stop don'tstopdon'tstop..."

Okay, so she doesn’t have Bazine’s actionable feedback skills. She's not in any kind of state to make requests. It's fine. The trial-and-error is fun too. He can tell by the way the small of her back keeps arching and lifting higher and higher off the seat that she's close. It's like the last time, but he's seeing it from a different facet of the prism. And, _fuck_ , he's kind of getting there, too, just from the combination of drawing out this response in her and the friction of his jeans against his now-raging hard-on. 

It'll have to wait. 

"You're so good," he assures her, noticing how satisfying it feels to give someone praise. "Kylo" doesn't do that. "You should see your body from this angle."

"Y-you're so…so—" He feels her reach blindly for the bulge in his pants, her fingertips just brushing the denim enough to make his cock twitch.

In an ideal world—a world he plans to create in his own bed, at some point tomorrow—they'd spend hours like this. He'd bring her right up to that edge—the one that's been fucking torturing him all week—back off and listen to her whimper, and then charge to the brink again. Repeat...repeat...repeat until neither of them can take it anymore. 

But he started this with one goal: to watch her come with his own eyes. It's his fucking duty. And it needs to happen now. 

_Right_. 

He makes his tongue firm and pointed and flicks it back and forth across her clit in a quick pattern, coaxing her little moans into less-innocent full-throated cries. Releasing his right hand from her leg, he eases a finger inside her, letting her muscles contract around it.

"Fuck. You want that." So tight. “You're so wet for me.” 

"Uh huhhh…" _So tight._ "Oh God. Oh God. Yesyes _yes_."

"You like feeling nice and full while I make you come?"

The sole of her running shoe taps against the window pane in the same steady rhythm as his movements, as the rain hammers on glass from the outside. He adds a second finger, crooking them upward, adding pressure from the inside while his mouth works diligently against the bundle of nerves on the outside. 

"You feel so good," he says, coming up for a breath. "Fuck, you're almost there."

"Ahhh _ahhhh_. I’m gonna...I’m _gonna_..." Rey tears at his hair as her voice rises in pitch and volume. "Ben. Please, just— _just_ —FUUUUUCK—" 

It's too hard to refuse her. He sucks her clit into his mouth and she kicks hard against the window pane, crying out as her inner walls pulse around his fingers. A little stream of warm fluid gushes over his hand and down to the premium full grain leather. 

He doesn't mind. At all. 

Rey had swung her knee again as she reached her climax, and he'd had to duck his head to the side to avoid the same fate as Bazine. Ironically, he hadn't even seen her face. 

But it's okay. He's extremely confident he'll have another chance at seeing it. Many more chances.

It's a S.M.A.R.T. goal: specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, and timely. 

That's actually something Bazine had taught him. 

 

* * * *

 

Rey feels like she's hanging upside down. 

And she practically is. 

But she's not exactly uncomfortable. She's used to inverting her body, with all the training at the ninja gym. She just hadn't realized it would come in handy in the backseat of a Porsche. 

It takes a minute for the spots to disappear from her vision. She should probably try to move her legs off his shoulders, but Ben is still looking at her, kind of awestruck with a touch of pride. Or is it arrogance?

Is it some kind of curse that Ben Solo appears to be the only person in this entire city who can reliably make her come, each time more intense than the last? Who actually seems to care a lot (like, _a lot_ ) about making her feel fucking amazing? Of course it couldn't have been some rando with no connection to both of her very recent, very _messy_ exes and her former income stream.

It had to be Ben fucking Solo.

Dammit.

Outside, the raindrops begin to taper off into a trickle. She manages to rearrange her legs, slip her right leg back into her underwear, and maneuver herself upright on the seat, while Ben hunts down her discarded shorts and t-shirt. It takes longer than it should, considering the small size of the car. Rey wants to believe that it's not because he wants her to remain topless for an extra thirty-nine seconds.

They sit in silence for awhile (of course the noisy distraction of the rain would stop once it's time for this particular conversation), both facing forward, sneaking glances at each other. It reminds Rey of sitting next to a boy at the movies for the first time.

 _He's been_ inside _you. In several ways. Why is this so awkward? Why can't they just—_

"When can I see you again?"

Admittedly, her heart flutters at this question, but she hasn't exactly been in the mood to trust anyone. Even men with extraordinary oral sex abilities. 

"You don't even really know me," she points out. Rightly. 

"I want to."

"Why? Because you want to fuck me again?" It's a question, but it comes out like a statement of fact.

" _No_. I mean, I do want to fuck you again, but—" he brushes his hair away from his face and blows out a breath "—I think we should go on a date."

"A date?"

"Yes. A normal date. Maybe dinner."

She waits for him to reach back in his middle-aged man bag of references and say _"psych!"_ but he doesn't. Maybe she _had_ gotten too used to Poe.

"I wake up at nine p.m. so I can repair scooters all night."

"Okay. What time do you get off work?"

 _Persistent_. 

"The scooters have to be back on the street by seven for the commuters," she says, carefully. Non-commital-ly. 

"So I'll pick you up at seven."

No one has ever been persistent with her.

"A.m.," she reiterates. Maybe he didn't catch that. 

"I'll pick you up at seven a.m."

"And do what? Watch the sun rise?" It's almost disappointing not to be let down again. To be proven wrong—in this one instance—about her lot in life. God, trauma is a bitch. 

"I heard you're taking on new personal training clients." He places his hand on his midsection. "Someone told me I need to tighten up my obliques."

"Well, that person was right. But I don't want you to pay me. If it's a...date." The word feels awkward coming out of her mouth. _Date_. 

"I'll buy you breakfast. The way you eat, that should more than cover it."

"Just for that, I hope you like park bench pushups." She fights off the smile that her cheeks are practically forcing onto her face. "And me standing over you while your abs burn."

"Funny you should mention that." He reaches forward and pulls his phone off of the magnetic mount on the dashboard. "I got a text from Poe today. I think it's you and me."

Rey stares at the image, as he holds out the phone, the heat immediately rising in her neck and up to her cheeks.

 

 

"Am I—um... _wow_."

"Yeah. I think he's getting better."

"That's...something."

"It's...an idea. Yeah." Ben looks down for a moment. “You know, if the whole ‘being the hinge’ thing is important to you, I can call him.”

“Him?”

“Poe. We can make that happen for you. If that’s what you were looking for...in all this. I’m sure he’d be into it.” 

“Wait.” She sits up a little straighter. “You think I want to have a threesome with you and _Poe_?” She tilts her head. “Why—”

“You said something about wanting to be the hinge. When I was...putting the handcuffs on you?” He looks slightly pained. 

“Oh.” Rey winces a bit at the memory. “Is that what _you_ wa—” 

“No.” 

“Me neither,” she says, a little too quickly. “I mean—never say _never_ , I guess.” She bites her lower lip. “But I was kinda picturing it being just...you and me?”

“You pictured that?” 

She shrugs.

Suddenly it's very difficult to meet Ben's eyes. She finds herself gazing at his lips instead. 

Funny...It's one thing they don't know about each other. Maybe there's time for everything else they could possibly think up—anything that could happen in a bed or a car or workshop table surrounded by scooter parts that go crashing to the concrete floor with a single swipe of his hand. Those things can wait. 

But this can't. 

Rey twists all the way to the left and reaches out her right hand, grabbing the back of his neck, skimming her fingers against the stiff collar of his shirt, as she pulls him down and toward her. Not that he needs much prodding.

"I wanted to do this," she says, their noses nearly brushing one another, "uh, last time. But it just felt more... _wrong_ than the sex, somehow."

His hands find her jaw and her neck and she doesn't think she's totally imagining a thrum beneath her skin. 

They each press in a tiny bit more, meeting in the middle, tilting their heads in opposite directions. 

The soft skin of his lower lip grazes against hers. 

How had she hated him so much just a few weeks ago when this seems so… _right_?

Kissing Bazine was perfectly fine. Making out with Poe could be...vigorous. But none of it had felt like this—like something wonderful, slow, and deep pushing and pulling from some distant place in her core, making her forget all about speed controllers and pissed off exes and judgmental strangers. It takes a second or two to find the exact way their lips fit together: joining and parting, delicate and then with more intensity—hands finding cheeks and pulling hair, nails scratching down backs, heads bumping against the windows. Ben groans softly and somehow it's the loveliest little sound she's heard in a long time. 

But under all the physical sensations, there's an unfamiliar tenderness building steadily in her chest. It’s wholly unexpected, given the events of the last week. And the last ten minutes. But it’s warm. And intriguing. And even though it solves nothing—and it probably will make her life a lot more complicated—it feels safe.

She could ask for just about anything right now, including the activity so lovingly depicted in Poe's, uh, _art_ , and she's pretty sure Ben would be at her service. 

It certainly _is_ an idea. For another time.

"I need to get back to the workshop," Rey says, reluctantly moving her head back. "I get paid by the scooter."

She half-expects Ben to laugh, but he doesn't.

"I'll let you climb out first. I'd rather you not see me attempt that again and have that image as your mental picture of me for the next seven hours."

"Oh, I think I have some better material now, but I'll still picture it anyway." She gracefully parkour-scrambles over the console and into the passenger seat. Her hand reaches for the door handle, but she finds herself turning around instead of pulling on it. "If I'm Number One, does that mean I can call you Number Two?"

"No," he says. "I've refined the concept. We can take turns being Number One."

"The thing about a two person oral train is that you can both be number one and two. Simultaneously." She leans back into the car for another kiss. "Think about it. Maybe have Poe work up a diagram."

 

 

* * * *

 

  
# general  
  


BazineDisciple69  
Good for Kira and Kyle for finding love with one another, blah, blah.   
Still very disrespectful to Bazine!  
*Kylo   
ugh fuck you autocorrect   


* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. This fic has always been a soft love story between TWO people, written for readers who were brave enough to deal with the tags. 😱
> 
> A lot (and I mean _a lot_ of the Bazine dialogue came from various Tati videos and drama channels. Even though Bye Sister has been deleted, you can still find [repostings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7QPrkkt51I). I still find Tati *so* watchable, even though my thoughts about the way this whole situation unfolded are...well, I'll save it for my drama channel.
> 
> The NetalHeads discord chat is an almost direct transcription of a twitter thread about this fic that was too funny not to use. Thanks to all the hilarious people I stole from.

**Author's Note:**

> \---
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/slipgoingunder). I'm probably slipgoingunder on any future platforms, now and future, which is the advantage of a username comprised of obscure Cure lyrics.


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